A Soul, A Mentality, A Name
by CaptainOzone
Summary: Bk1 of Prophesized. Merlin and Arthur are faced by a new, powerful threat: the Gvarath. Merlin once again dons the guise of Dragoon the Great to save Arthur. But the question is: will he be able to convince Arthur to fight alongside him? No slash. Cover by ErinNovelist.
1. Prologue: A Monster

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

**Author's Note:** Alrighty, here's my first fanfic. (An)other chapter(s) will be up within the next few days. A few things: 1) New baddy. I knew I couldn't write Morgana right, so here we are. Hopefully he doesn't crash and burn. :D I made up his name (it sounded ominous and cool at the time) as well as the creature he turns into (don't ask me to pronounce it :P) so if he or his name resembles anything/anyone, it is completely coincidental. 2) Beware, this is a Reveal fic, and some of this has been inspired by S4 spoilers. (Set after S3) 3) Rated T for darkness, possible swearing, and violence/implied violence. 4) Any spells were found on Merlin Wiki

Most of this chapter is a flashback, so hopefully it comes across right. :)

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><p><strong><span>Prologue:<span> A Monster**

Muluk, his eyes crusted with sleep, shivered and slowly sat up, cursing the cold, cursing the ache in his back from sleeping on the ground, cursing the lingering burn of his wounds, and above all cursing _them_. He pushed his dark, matted hair from his face and cursed once again.

"_Baerne_," he barked hoarsely to the dying embers of his fire.

The fire spluttered and caught on the remains of the wood, and he warmed his filthy hands on the flames. He winced at the sight of his fingernails, which were either extremely long, coated with dirt, or cracked, ragged to the nub.

Rage festered deep in his heart, and his mind hovered on the brink of insanity. He wanted blood, and not just the blood of nobodies. He wanted the blood of Arthur Pendragon. He hungered for it.

All his life, Muluk had lived on the streets of a small farming village on the extreme border of Camelot. He had no family that he knew of, and no one would ever willingly take him in. As a youth, he prided himself in being the trouble-maker of the town, and the townspeople dealt with his pranks and his thievery, scolding him and even beating him. Their abuse shaped him in the same way a whittler shapes wood. They broke him and began to mold the evil into him.

As he grew older, his mentality changed. He thought his purpose, his deception and trickery, was petty, and he craved for more. His misdeeds mounted in horrendous cruelty. Whether it be the mangling of a beloved pet or the slaughter and poisoning of a family's prized cow, he felt an indescribable joy and an even deeper lust for _more_.

He never thought anything of his crimes: they made him happy, and they made him laugh. To him, that was all that mattered. The townspeople, on the other hand, saw his growth to a monster and feared him. They locked him up in prison, but he was a sorcerer—albeit a self-taught, weak sorcerer. He always escaped and sought new ways to satisfy his demonic hunger.

It was a _game _for him. He became a hunter, a stalker; he became as stealthy and lithe as a cat and as cunning and deadly as a viper. His mistakes rewarded him a home in the town's makeshift cell. However, ironically enough, the very people trying to leash him were the ones helping him along in his evil quest. He found a fondness for developing new ways to escape. And escape he did. Over and over again.

Then he went one step too far.

He had watched her before and heard about her. She was the gem of the village. Her creamy, pale, glowing skin and wide hazel eyes were her gifts of beauty. Men also said she had a beautiful smile. Muluk never saw the beauty of her smile. He didn't care to see the innocence and purity in the girl, or perhaps it was just that that made him hate her and at the same made him desperately want her—in more ways than one. He didn't feel sorry for what he did to her—he never felt sorry for anything he did. The feeling of her blood running down his hands, the sight of it, the _taste_ of it made him shudder with an intense perverted happiness. He had loved watching her _squirm, _and he loved hearing her scream even more so.

The townspeople thought he was a demon of hell, and they lived in constant terror of him. That fear inevitably led to the manhunts.

After a few weeks of constant searching, exhausting fear, and several more deaths, they finally realized that they could not deal with him themselves. They called for the knights of Camelot to punish the criminal accordingly for his crimes.

This, in it of itself, was a good idea. The villagers could hardly manage to keep a grasp on him without him slipping through their fingers like a bar of soap. They were farmers, and it isn't hard to believe that farmers do not make good guards or good executors.

They didn't expect much. Who were they, a tiny farming town with no value to the King, to be bothering him with this? Fortunately for them, Uther was still unfit to rule, so it had been the Prince, acting as Regent, who decided to send a few knights off to the village.

By this time, Muluk had become cocky: he felt that the village was his to control and would bow to his demands. He did not expect to be challenged by the knights of Camelot.

When they arrived, they were obviously poorly informed of his skill and ruthlessness. Muluk could only snicker at the foolish Prince, who only sent three knights and five back-up soldiers. Muluk struck like a snake, and he disarmed and disabled the whole party with his bare hands before escaping with only one wound across his forehead and forearm.

He had been wandering the woods for a month now, wild and lost. He was thrown into rages of insanity and madness that portrayed the monster inside, clawing to be fully released. Without even acknowledging that he was doing so, he began to eat his meat raw like a rabid wolf. He ached to kill, and killing for food was not satisfying him. His tortured soul howled in harmony with his blood-stained lips in pain for the need to satisfy his corrupted nature.

At the moment at his sad little campfire, he was in a more human state of mind—his rage was kept at a low burn, constant, always present. As he sat there in front of the fire, unthinking and mindless to everything but the dark flame of anger, he did not notice the snake approach him.

This snake was no ordinary snake. It was the last of its kind, forced to forever search and search. The snake's crest was the color of smoky, dark shadows and rusted blood and the rest of its body pure black. Its eyes glared red, and its fangs dripped with black venom.

And it had finally found what it was searching for.

It hissed softly, seductively, and went to Muluk, nuzzling and entwining itself around his leg. The monster instinctually put his hand down and allowed the snake to slither up. He stroked it like a lover, and the snake purred.

It nipped him, staining his veins black. Muluk felt an intense rush of thrill from the pain of the bite, and he moaned with pleasure. It spoke to him in his mind, whispering its support, its dedication to his plans. Muluk felt a passionate glee arise in him as the snake added its suggestions and its allegiance. Once Muluk accepted its power, the snake slipped down his open throat, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

When he awoke, the snake and he were one, bonded for eternity. He was a Gvarath.

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><p>AN: Yes, the rest of the gang will be there next chapter, I promise. :)<p> 


	2. The First Sign

Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.

Author's Note: Thank you for the story alerts and reviews everyone. I hope I let no one down. :) Speaking of being let down: here's my first attempt at banter. In truth, I had a lot more trouble with it than I thought, so I hope I've done them justice. Also, I hope that the structure makes at least some sense. Dialogue alternates between the Knights and Merlin and Arthur themselves.

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><p><strong>The First Sign<strong>

"Merlin!"

Merlin grumbled colorful insults under his breath as he hoisted Arthur's horse's saddle once again to keep it from slipping. He trotted across the courtyard to his impatient master. Arthur didn't see him approaching.

"MER—!"

Merlin stumbled in surprise at Arthur's sudden shout and fell forward. In an effort to regain his balance, he let go of the saddle, which unfortunately crashed on top of Arthur, knocking him over and pinning him to the ground. Merlin swung his arms a few times, and just as he caught his balance and began to laugh at Arthur, his feet were kicked out from under him by the pinned Prince.

"Merlin, you complete arse!" Arthur spat. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Merlin retorted sarcastically, picking himself off the ground. "It was entirely my fault. It had nothing to do _whatsoever_ with the fact that a certain prat nearly scared me out of my skin and burst my eardrums. No, but of course, that prat wouldn't believe or admit that. What was I thinking? We'll just blame Merlin for the attacking saddle," he ranted with strange mixture amusement and annoyance, alternating between bitter sarcasm and false sing-song enthusiasm.

Gwaine, who had been watching the collision from afar with the rest of the Knights of the Round Table, kept a straight face as he shouted out, "Is there a possibility you could use more sarcasm, Merlin? I think the Prince likes it."

Elyan and Percival snorted, and Lancelot and Leon rolled their eyes at Gwaine's obnoxiousness.

"Did you drink last night, Gwaine?" Arthur asked Gwaine suddenly, who had temporarily distracted his temper from Merlin.

"C'mon, you know me, my friend. I drink every night!" Each of the Knights chuckled, but once they saw the livid face of Arthur, they turned and hurriedly began playing with their horses' buckles and bridles.

They knew that there were only two people that could stand before that face without a trace of discomfort or fear: Gwen and Merlin. The Knights began whispering to each other, eager for the latest wordplay between the master and servant, and they began commentating on each insult and prod.

"You really are a klutz, Merlin," Arthur said, pushing the saddle off of himself and standing up.

"_That's _the understatement of a lifetime," Gwaine murmured to his fellow knights, who all have noticed on many occasions Merlin's disharmony with gravity.

Lancelot took a breath to defend Merlin, but then let it out in a huff and snort. There was nothing to say; Gwaine was spot on.

"…and on top of that, you're an _idiotic_ klutz."

"I believe that we've established that a few times before," Merlin agreed, bobbing his raven-haired head, his stormy blue eyes shining. Arthur could hardly conceal a look of surprise at his agreement, and Merlin grinned with enjoyment. "But this time, I think that it's the right opportunity to call _you_ the idiot."

"_Me_?" Arthur asked in outrage. Immediately, he mentally kicked himself—he had played right into Merlin's hand and lost the momentum of the banter. He had the nasty feeling that Merlin was going to win this one.

Merlin's impish smile confirmed Arthur's fear. "I'm just guessing, but perhaps if you had _opened your eyes_, looked around, and had quit prancing around and calling after me like a fool with baby serkets in his trousers, you would have realized I was right beside you."

"Baby serkets?" Percival asked aside to Leon.

"Nasty little buggers, they are," Gwaine offered.

"They're not exactly _little_, so to speak, Gwaine. They're giant scorpions," Leon whispered.

"How giant?" asked Elyan. Like Percival, he had never heard of the creatures.

"Erm—I've heard their poisonous tails curve above the height of a horse, while their bodies and pincers are lower to the ground…about here—" Leon motioned to his knee-mid-thigh range. "I've only seen them from afar," he explained, knowing he didn't paint a very good or very accurate picture. "Merlin obviously knows more about them."

"Would the babies really fit in a man's trousers, then?" Percival asked, intrigued.

Leon shrugged, and Lancelot answered for him, "If there was someone who knew, it would be Merlin."

Percival considered the thought, and then agreed. The boy seemed to have quite an unfortunate attraction to magical and dangerous beasts. Percival, being the last of the Knights to have met Merlin, was constantly learning new things about him and was intrigued by him. He loved to study people, and perhaps that is why he had the tendency to appear quiet and withdrawn. He was, after all, more a listener over a talker. He resolved to ask Merlin later about serkets and _how_ he knew about them because the _how_ fascinated him even more than the _what_.

They listened again as Arthur brought up a retort instinctually, unaware that it would throw Merlin off. "Fine, fine! But of you hadn't been late _again_, I wouldn't have been shouting for you to get your ass moving!"

Merlin pursed his lips. In a complete stroke of luck, Arthur had spoken the one thing Merlin couldn't counter to the best of his extent. He _had _been late, and he had no excuse for it. The Dragon had called to him last night, but Arthur wouldn't know that. He would have thought that Merlin got all the sleep he needed after letting him off early the night before to be rested for the mission that morning.

He mentally winced, remembering the Dragon's words. _Something ancient—something as ancient as the Elder Dragons is stirring, young warlock. Even I fear that I cannot help you this time. What is to come—I can sense the evil. My ancestors have left me that much. But I cannot see it. Be prepared._

A stroke of brilliance hit him like a bolt of lightning. "Hypocrite," Merlin chuckled, craftily avoiding the subject of his rather late roll out of bed. "You wouldn't be standing here arguing if you really were concerned about setting off in a timely manner."

The Knights snickered.

"That was a good one," Leon said in slight admiration. "Quite cunning, too."

"Why d'you suppose he was late?" Elyan wondered.

Gwaine clapped him on the back. "Mate, Merlin's _always_ late. I'm sure Arthur honestly doesn't even give it a second thought anymore. _I_ wouldn't think much of it. He's always off and about."

"He looks tired," Percival noted, eyes appraising the light shadows under Merlin's eyes. Few would notice it, especially considering the liveliness of his behavior.

Lancelot frowned. He had a feeling that Merlin's secret had something to do with that.

Arthur froze for some time, mouth agape, before he finally admitted, "You're right. Saddle the horses, Merlin. We're wasting time."

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. "No."

Leon had to suppress Gwaine from whooping.

"_No?_" Arthur asked softly, in a venomous, cold tone.

"That's right: _no_. Not until you apologize for knocking me over."

A wide grin spread across Gwaine's face. The rest watched open-mouthed Merlin's defiance with awe.

"I'm constantly amazed how a little skin-and-bones fellow like Merlin can stand up to him like that," Percival said. "I'd be quaking in my boots if Arthur used that tone with me."

"Not all of us can be as brawny as you," Gwaine said. "Merlin's more gifted in the brains department."

"You would never believe it, though," Leon mused. "He's quite quiet when you don't know him well… and when he's in the King's presence. _Particularly _then. Can you even guess how many times he's been convicted of sorcery?" Lancelot stiffened. "Many. I thought he was a fool for it. Oh, was I wro—"

He was cut off by a loud snort from one of the horses, and they turned their attention to quiet him and then back again to the two.

For a second, Arthur didn't even remember kicking Merlin to the ground. "You deserved it!" Arthur protested.

"I managed to keep my balance this one time, and you couldn't let me enjoy the sight of seeing _you_ on the ground," Merlin complained, a slight tone of disgust in his voice. "Selfish—not only impatient but _selfish_."

"Ouch," Elyan winced.

Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I'm not sorry for it, so I can't apologize."

"Stubborn mule." Merlin began talking to him in the way a woman would a baby. "Is apologizing to the servant going to ruin the high and mighty Prince's reputation? Stain his pride?"

Merlin laughed at Arthur's indignation. "I believe that you've learned the word 'humility', Sire?" he asked in jest.

Arthur, who had been all about bursting a vein in his forehead as he built up a fiery comeback, suddenly lost all interest in the game. His anger slipped off his face and was replaced by shock and then severe solemnity.

Merlin's smile fell, and he misinterpreted Arthur's emotions. He shook his head and said in mock dismay, "Oh, dear. I'm afraid for you. Imagine what Gwen might do to re-teach you _that_ lesson."

He heard the Knights suddenly dashing away and the yells of people all around. Merlin turned and saw the bloody and fatigued group of men that had suddenly staggered into the courtyard.

"Oh, no," Merlin gasped.

Arthur started running away to help, motioning to other servants around to care for the horses. "Merlin, Gaius!" he shouted over his shoulder.

But Merlin had already sprinted up the steps into the castle to prepare Gaius for a busy day. Arthur felt a grim satisfaction as he saw the flap of Merlin's jacket as he rushed through the door.

Even he had to admit that Merlin wasn't an idiot _all_ the time.

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><p>AN: I know that this is a teeny cliffie, and it is another teeny chapter. As I get more into it, I'm sure there'll be longer chapters. :P Another thing: don't be afraid to criticize-I won't bite. ;)<p>

**AN #2 (Edit: June 2012): Wow, this was almost painful to reread. *winces* Almost a YEAR now that this had been first written...Yeah, I'm proud of how much I've improved with banter. ;P**


	3. The Right and the Wrong

Disclaimer: If only, if only I owned Merlin ;)

Author's Note**:**Thanks for the reviews once again. I'm glad I did banter semi-decently. **(****Edit 06/12: *snorts*)** :) But Merlin-Arthur banter won't be much a part of this story I'm afraid. *hides sigh of relief* Once Merlin is Dragoon, I'll have a little more freedom to play around. He may be Merlin in disguise, but Dragoon has not been as fully studied as Merlin, if that makes any sense... Dragoon could go a manner of ways. :P Anyway, I fear this is another short one and rather tedious, but, stick around :) The lightbulb above my head didn't just light; it exploded last night around 2-3am. Oh, boy, do I have plans *broad, evil grin*

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><p><strong>The Right and the Wrong<strong>

"Gwen, could you pass the—?"

Gwen, who had become increasingly familiar with the clutter of jars and bundles of herbs that made up the organized mess of Gaius's chambers, handed over the plant she knew he wanted.

He nodded his thanks. "Did Arthur visit Uther last night?" Gaius asked, carefully measuring out a portion of the ingredient and stirring it into Uther's calming draught.

"Yes, he did."

"Good," Gaius grunted with satisfaction. "The more he sees of Arthur the better. His visits are the greatest remedy for his mind."

"His eyes come to life when Arthur's there," Gwen sighed quietly in agreement. "Sometimes there's a hint of a smile; sometimes he speaks. But directly afterwards—when he leaves… he falls back into that stupor…" she mused. "Gaius, d'you think he'll ever recover?"

Gaius pursed his lips. "I'm beginning to think that there's nothing more we can do. I knew that I wouldn't be able to cure him, but I'm doing everything in my power to help him along. I can hardly do that if he's not trying to help himself. All my work, I'm afraid, is worthless unless he himself fights away his pain." He said this with unhappy resignation. He didn't like admitting defeat or disappointment.

Gwen had no love for the cruel king: he did execute her father. She was the kind of person, however, that saw the light in everyone. Some part of her knew the goodness in Uther, despite his overpowering cold-blooded personality. She pitied him, and she understood him. Finding out that Morgana betrayed Camelot and had magic was a huge maiming blow to a man like Uther, whose sole purpose in life was his fight _for _loyalty and strength and his fight _against _magic. His own daughter became his exact opposite, and yet, ironically enough, she became the reflection of his every flaw, an intensified parallel of his own evils. After Morgana had fled and Arthur and his rag-tag team regained control of the city, Uther had been so terribly shocked by the ordeal that he was hardly in a fit state to rule… or do much of anything on his own.

Gwen had taken it upon herself, mostly for Arthur's sake, to care for Uther during this time. Day in and day out, she patiently sat with him, tried to get him to eat and sleep regularly, and chattered to him about the menial going-ons of the Lower Town and the castle. She hated seeing Arthur's pain at his father's fragile state, and she wanted Uther to regain his health to see that hidden dismay and hidden pain in Arthur's eyes fade away. Her only hope for his recovery was the fact that, despite his mentally troubled state of health, Uther had never once tried to take his own life.

This comforted her, oddly enough. Otherwise, he never would have been left alone. Sometimes she knew it best to leave him alone, and this was done more often than her actual nursing of him. On her "days off," she surveyed the changes around the castle with awe.

Arthur's newest Knights, the ones who fought alongside him in Bellum Sanguinis (1), or the Battle of Blood, as it had been recently dubbed, were commoners and knighted in the most appropriate, yet atrocious circumstances. Many rejoiced and promoted the change, supporting Arthur's decision wholeheartedly, while others fumed at their Prince's disregard to tradition. However, once they saw the men in action, they reluctantly had to push aside life-long customs and mentalities, and the light of change started to appear more appealing to them.

The other Knights, the noble-blooded Knights, were even more reluctant than the people to accept them into their fold. They saw how Arthur trusted them and grew bitter and jealous. Even when Arthur ordered them to put a stop to their complaints and appeals _and_ told them that his father was in total agreement with his decision, they still found it hard to accept. However, quite a few more, like Sir Leon, who had been the only noble fighting alongside the commoners, saw their value and welcomed them as brothers.

And even more amazing to her, was her new place in the castle. Her brother had been named a Knight, and Arthur was now openly courting her. She had gained a higher social status than she could have even dreamed of, and it was often disconcerting. Perhaps this was why—alongside her love for Arthur—she cared for Uther so: she wanted to keep a remainder of her maidservant life amidst the craziness of her sudden identity change. She knew in her heart that she would always be a servant, and serving in the only way she knew calmed her and reminded her of who she was. It kept her humble.

She didn't realize that Gaius was watching her expectantly until he coughed.

She jumped and said sheepishly, "Sorry, Gaius. What did you say?"

Gaius looked at her for a few seconds with his mind-reading eyes and then muttered, "Arthur's going to be fine, Guinevere. Everything usually has a way of turning out for the best."

"How did you know I was thinking about Arthur?"

"When are you not?" was Gaius's innocent reply, as he searched his table for something. "Damn," he swore quietly. "Where did I put—?"

He was cut off by a familiar sound: a crashing door and light, slightly awkward footsteps. _Merlin_. He would know the sound anywhere at any time. He didn't bother to look up from his work.

Gwen raised her head, having recognized the entrance as well, and began to smile and greet Merlin… until she caught sight of his face, flushed from running and from haste.

"Merlin?" she asked, her smile falling. "What's wrong? Is Arthur—?"

"No, not Arthur," the winded servant gasped. "Gaius—we need—some men…"

Gaius looked up for the first time and moved into action. "Gwen, could you please fetch some fresh water? Merlin, come help me set up in the infirmary."

Another of the more wonderful changes that had come to the castle was the now permanent infirmary. It had only just finished being prepared.

One day, just last week, Arthur came clomping to Gaius's chambers to wake up his lazy servant, who he thought had slept in…_again_. He entered the physician's rooms unceremoniously and loudly, only to stop dead in his tracks. The small room was _packed_, with an awake, but obviously very sleepy, gangly servant, an even sleepier Gaius, and three big, buff knights that had been wounded the day previously while out on patrol.

So Arthur, being the caring person he was, decided to give his servant and physician their living quarters back.

Merlin had teased him later that day, his restless night not prohibiting him in the slightest. "Why hasn't anyone thought of this before?" the boy had asked with an insulting bemusement.

Arthur had to agree with Merlin, but he wasn't going to readily admit that to the goofball. It was really quite ridiculous. A full infirmary, he realized, had only ever been set up when city had been under attack, or at war, or during special occasions—special occasions of a magical nature—and none of them could deny that the infirmary had been used with ever increasing need in the past few years.

When he admitted his realizations to Merlin, he was surprised by the boy's reaction. He seemed twitchy and guarded, acting almost as though everything that had happened in the last few years had been _his _fault. In reality, it was hardly Merlin's fault, but when his presence and his work to change the Prince for the better had attracted quite a few unpleasant enemies, he felt a strange guilt for the various misfortunes all the same.

The full infirmary had been set in a room very near Gaius's chambers and had improved Merlin and Gaius's lives ten-fold. There were no more men cramping up Gaius's workspace, no more men in need of their beds, and bloodstained tables and chairs were a thing of the past.

A lot of supplies were already stored in the infirmary, so Merlin and Gaius grabbed a few things and were off. The pair both sanitized their hands with a compound that Gaius had invented (2) and began laying out bandages and pain-killing herb tinctures and whatever else they might need.

Gaius watched Merlin bustle with pride. He had never expected Merlin to ever gain any interest in the physician's work, but steadily, he became as skilled in herb-lore as Gaius himself, learning and picking up on it from example and experience at Gaius' side. He had noted that the boy was not only disciplining himself in medicine but also in healing magic. He remembered the boy both laughing and complaining about his many poor attempts at healing Arthur with magic, and the old physician was proud that his ward had begun to _act _on his words and master the skill necessary to deal with Arthur and his many, _many _injuries.

Suddenly, the injured men and helpers stumbled into the room. Arthur directed each of them to a bed, making sure the one with the worst injuries was placed down first. Gwen rushed in with the water right on time, and Arthur dismissed the helpers as well as the Knights of the Round Table. He gave them all a "don't argue with me look," particularly focusing his eyes on Gwaine, and then insisted that Gaius needed space.

Gaius immediately gave the wounded man a check over. Merlin couldn't help but wince at the three deep diagonal slashes down the Knight's chest, and without being told, he handed Gaius bandages, needle, thread, linens, and the anti-bacterial and numbing goop Gaius used on wounds like this. Gaius began to work as the rest of the men were being settled.

Knowing that he could help Gaius no more with the unconscious, bloody man, Merlin observed the others. The four were, for the most part, covered in the blood of their companion but had no other injuries that he could see, other than exhaustion….and…

Arthur was trying to get one of the soldiers to talk, but the bearded man stared blankly at Arthur with dull, dead eyes. Merlin came up to him as he tried two others. They too were unresponsive. The fourth man, however, was rocking and shaking, tears streaked through the dirt on his face.

Before Arthur could question this man, Merlin put a hand out to stop him. "Leave him be for a moment, Sire," he said seriously.

Arthur just nodded, a little taken aback by the intensity in Merlin's face and voice. "Who are they?" he asked the Prince.

"They're the group that I sent out to that village—Prolik—last month to deal with the murderer. I thought… they've been gone for so long…"

Merlin remembered and did a quick head count. "You sent eight men out; there's only five here."

"I know," Arthur murmured, a hint of worry in his voice. "How is he, Gaius?" he asked, motioning to the only Knight, Sir Oscar, remaining of the party.

"He's lost a lot of blood; he's dehydrated and weak with fever, but I think he'll recover," Gaius said as he finished sewing the second of the three cuts. "Gwen, please tend to his fever; Merlin, could you finish up this—it's the smallest—I need to see to the others."

Arthur watched with open amazement as his clumsy servant's hands deftly began to sew the lips of the wound closed. The raven-haired lad didn't notice, he was so focused into his task, but Gwen did. He blushed at her knowing smile and followed Gaius.

Gaius went directly to the frightened, crying man next. The poor fellow cringed from Gaius' hand. "You're safe now. You don't need to be afraid," Gaius said gently. "I'm just going to search you for injuries."

The fear in the man's eyes abated, but he flinched at every movement from Gaius. "There's nothing physically wrong with him, Sire," Gaius said after a moment. "Could you possibly get him some water and talk with him?"

Arthur willingly did as he was told—Gaius was the only one who could order him around, and the only one he allowed to order him around. He knew these men suffered because of him, and he wanted to care for them in anyway he could to repay them.

Gaius checked over the last three men, and Arthur couldn't help but notice his face getting darker and darker with each passing second.

Merlin, having finished stitching Sir Oscar and bandaging him with Gwen's help, came over. "What's wrong with them?" Merlin asked. He placed one of his long hands on a soldier's forehead.

Merlin felt as though an electric shock jumped through him. He jumped, hissed, and withdrew his hand, a mixture of disgust and fear on his face. Gaius saw the warlock's eyes flicker gold, but Arthur, fortunately, didn't see anything.

But he did hear Merlin's hiss and sensed his discomfort. He looked up from Eric—he had just been given the poor guy's name—and raised an eyebrow.

"Well?" Arthur asked, a little more rudely than he intended.

Neither of the two noticed. Gaius's brow crunched as he watched Merlin, who was now staring at the man he had touched.

"There's something horribly wrong," Merlin muttered, mostly to himself.

"Well, _obviously_!" Arthur said under his breath impatiently.

"I don't know, Sire," Gaius started slowly, not acknowledging Merlin. "They breathe. There's no sign of injury, but—"

"Their eyes are dead, Gaius," Merlin muttered, his hands going to his head. "And yet they live." Merlin's head was spinning with the force of _wrongness_ that was coming from the man. He felt it as a giant wave of darkness, and he couldn't put into words his repulsion or his fear. All he knew is that the man was… _wrong_.

Gaius whispered into Merlin's ear, "Merlin! I don't know what's happening, but pull it together, for Arthur's sake!"

Merlin grimaced and saw Arthur's confused and mildly shocked and concerned expression for the first time. He quickly composed himself, fighting away his rush of emotions and avoiding the inquiries in his Prince's sapphire eyes.

"I'll let them get some sleep," Gaius finished. "I can't do anything for them at the moment until I look into it some more. What have you learned from our friend here?"

Arthur turned to Eric and introduced him to the others while Gwen watched worriedly from Oscar's bedside. "Will you tell us what happened?" Arthur asked Eric kindly.

Eric twitched a nod and shut his eyes. "We—we made it to Prolik, my lord. But the man—the man, Muluk—he—he—" he shuddered. "I've never seen anything like him, my lord. He killed Sirs Peter and Lindor by breaking their necks. He disarmed us all with the quickest and smallest of moves. Sir Oscar was the only one to make a cut on him, Sire, he was so quick. He _shattered_ Gill's leg… we couldn't take him with us; the village healer is caring for him now. Muluk ran for it."

Eric swallowed convulsively, and Merlin handed him another glass of water. Eric downed it and continued hoarsely, "He escaped us, Sire, and things got worse from there… We spent the next weeks searching the surrounding country-side—failure, Sire."

His voice grew really quiet and trembled even more than before. "We came back, knowing we could do no more until we alerted you to the situation… we—we were a day's ride from Camelot…camping…and—and—" Tears started leaking from his eyes. He brushed them away, ashamed. "It—it's _eyes_, Sire! It attacked with barely a sound. It—I don't know what it was, but it—it has a dreadful power, Sire. And it—horrible, terrifying…It only harmed Sir Oscar, and it—hurt me in my mind… the others…."

Eric could no longer go on. Gwen, Arthur, Gaius, and Merlin sat awestruck and terrified by his tale. Arthur gripped the man's shoulder. "You've done well, Eric. Thank you. We'll leave you to rest now."

Gaius nodded his approval and gently shooed the three young friends out the door. Arthur looked back at the prone bodies and an ominous shiver overcame him.

* * *

><p>AN: (1) Bellum Sanguinis is Latin, and being a Latin nerd, I'll eat my finger if someone finds a grammatical error about it.<p>

(2) Yeah, I know that sounds remarkably like hand-sanitizer! ;D I know that cleanliness wasn't as much a big deal in medieval times as it is today, so I apologize if that small reference to modern times bugs anyone.

Also, I hope you enjoyed my little poke and prod at the show's convenient use of the infirmary. Has anyone else noticed that? :P


	4. Lost

Disclaimer: If I owned Merlin, I'd probably be cuddling with him right now. :P

Author's Note: I'm terribly sorry that this is late. I've been trying one chapter a day, but life intervened *sighs*. I have a list of excuses, but that's not important to you. I won't trouble you with it. This is an emotional chapter; I didn't really mean it to be this long, but I suppose things like that just...happen. I can promise you the action's coming. So please, bear with me. :) You won't regret it.

Another thing: the symbol indicates a change in POV. One star is a little foot note. **(Edit 06/12: Bah. I wish I had had the foresight to realize how unorganized starred foot-notes are, particularly when there's a LOT of them in a single chapter. So...ignore that. Numbers are far more neat, I've decided. ;P)**

* * *

><p><strong>Lost<strong>

It didn't surprise Arthur to see his Round Table Knights waiting outside the infirmary door. Gwaine was pacing, Leon was fiddling with his sword anxiously, Elyan was sitting cross-legged on the floor, and Lancelot and Percival stood, whispering between themselves. They immediately stood at attention when Gwen and Arthur walked out the door and when Merlin _tripped_ out the door.

Merlin's head was pounding, and his shoulders and limbs shook, as they would if he had just sprinted for his life—and he had done that enough times to know how that felt. He could hardly pay attention to what Arthur was saying to his Knights about the return of the men. In fact, in his strange turmoil, he was only just managing to keep a straight face, and his eyes were glazed over, obviously far, far way.

He couldn't understand himself. Something deep within him had reacted negatively to the _shells_ of those men. It was a maddening feeling—his instincts told him he knew, and every ounce of him wanted to _act_. He _knew_—he knew he knew, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out _what, why, or how_. It was a Dark magic. This much he could Sense from his own magical abilities. He had never before felt magic that Dark, that deep, that _evil_. Despite this, he recognized it. Some part of him, some part of his magic, some part of the Old Religion inside of him _recognized _it, and a chilling horror that hardly seemed rational or sane possessed his mind. These emotions hardly felt his own.

He was afraid for what was to come. Because this—this was only the beginning.

With such confusing and twisted thoughts running around his head, you could imagine why it took so long for Arthur's voice to break through the wall of fog.

"Merlin? Merlin! MERLIN!"

_What the hell is wrong with me_? Merlin wondered, flinching and shaking his head as a dog would its coat. "Sorry?" he asked warily.

Each of their eyes held something. Gwen's were filled to the brim with a searching concern. Gwaine's were amused while Leon and Elyan both goggled at him like he was a three-legged horse. Percival's eyes were hidden from Merlin, but had he seen them, he would have seen the worry mixed with interest. Lancelot's eyes made him wince: they were piercing, quite literally trying to glean a glimpse from the warlock's mind. Arthur…well, Arthur was Arthur. His blue eyes were hiding the amusement and the pinch of fear for his servant behind a wall of annoyance.

All of them held one thing in common: confusion.

"Did you hear a word I just said, Merlin?" the Prince asked, crossing his arms.

"I—um—" Merlin stuttered.

Arthur threw up his hands in an 'I-give-up' gesture.

Gwaine snickered. "What were you day-dreaming about, mate?" he asked Merlin.

"Nothing," Merlin said, a bit too quickly.

Gwaine grinned playfully and poked Merlin in the stomach. "One of these days, Merlin, I'm going to get you drunk… then I think I might begin to understand you. Who knows what goodies you'd spill!"

Arthur couldn't stop a snort from escaping him, and Gwen, too, hid a smile at Merlin's face. Merlin resolved quickly to never accept _anything _from Gwaine. Who knew what tricks the alcoholic had up his sleeve.

The rest of the Knights laughed. It was only Lancelot and Percival that saw the boy pale and saw the tiniest pinch of edginess light his steely eyes.

Merlin never drank. Sure, he had tankard now and then… but that was mostly watered-down mead from grubby pubs. He was horrified about what he might do if he was drunk—or more importantly, what his _magic_ might do. He didn't think tavern patrons would appreciate levitating tables or burnt, singed clothes…or…erm—random patches of fur on their faces (1). He quickly shoved away that early memory: he had quite a few of those from Ealdor.

What scared him the most, however, was the fact that he might be dangerous. With a lack of control, he didn't know what could happen. He feared that unknown, and every time someone made fun of him for his unmanly alcohol habits, he would just smile and shiver on the inside.

He recovered and countered with a genuine threat. "I'm not sure you'd like that Gwaine… I don't have a mind or stomach for much liquor. I'd _spill_ quite a bit, and I have a feeling you wouldn't be too keen seeing all your precious ale go to waste. You might have a heart attack."

Merlin's smug grin widened as Gwaine fully grasped what he was saying, and the rest hooted with laughter. Lancelot, though, was the only one shaking his head in mock disapproval. He caught the double-meaning in his words. Merlin just beamed, his friends fully distracting him from how ill he was feeling.

"Might have to rethink that," Gwaine mumbled in disappointment.

"It's quite ironic that Arthur seems to think that whenever I say or do something remotely unusual that I've been on a cider then, isn't it?" Merlin quipped, nudging Leon amicably.

"Quite ironic, indeed," Leon agreed.

"I think it would only be necessary to ask that question if Merlin was actually acting _normal_, Sire," Elyan said sagely.

Merlin bobbed his head. "Exac—hey!"

"Right—" Arthur said, trying to regain control of the situation. "—since _Merlin_ decided his 'happy place' was more important than our problem…"

Merlin's smile dropped, and anger built up inside him, fiery and hot. _Arthur _hadn't a _clue_! Out of everything that Arthur taunted him with, out of everything that Arthur had insulted him for, this took the bill as the most offensive.

Given everything that Arthur had said and done to him, it was pretty sad that this would be number one. Someone else would think him over-reacting. But he wasn't someone else. He wasn't one of them.

Did any of them have any inkling as to what really went on in Merlin's mind? It was his one sanctuary. The one place he didn't have to pretend, the only thing that kept him sane. He could be himself, and he could be himself without prejudice or fear.

Did Arthur know of him at all? How could he? With his secret, how could he ever know? How could he even begin to explain the magic to him? How could he tell Arthur the joy it brings him to make things happen with words and mind alone? How could he describe the feeling of the magic in his veins? How could he explain the pleasure he felt when helping and serving with his gift—wielding it to make a difference for the better? How could he say that as much as he valued his gift, he also feared it? How could he admit the weight of his pain, his regrets, his mistakes? How could he truly confide his deepest fears and desires concerning their shared destiny to Arthur?

_How could he ask Arthur to trust him after all that he's done and everything that he's hidden?_

How could he tell the prat how much he truly cared about him and Camelot's people? How could he tell Arthur how proud of him he was? How could he tell Arthur the depth of his will to give his life for him? How could he tell Arthur that he was… a _brother _to him? How could he begin to share his memories and his knowledge with him? How could he describe the feeling of _completeness_ and satisfaction he felt with the way Arthur was running the kingdom? How could he say that he had never felt the care of so many friends around him? How could admit that despite that, he felt lonely and distant?

Those friends could easily turn to enemies if they knew the truth. They would think him a freak, a monster. Perhaps that is just what he was.

How could tell Arthur about who he was? How could he ever let Arthur know the real him, the one that he kept hidden away in his mind? He was magic, and magic was him. His mind was the one place he was free—and purely magical.

Suddenly, hatred, biting and dark, took over his anger. He hated the secrets and the lies. He hated the pretending. He hated denying himself and his nature. He _hated…_

What the hell was he thinking? He clenched his hands into fists and bit his lip, throwing his eyes to the ground. This… this wasn't him. This wasn't him thinking. He brought a hand to his forehead and pressed his palm against it, a little crease appearing between the eyebrows.

What if that Darkness from those men entered him? Corrupting him? His stomach twisted at the thought. No, he dismissed it in a second. That was irrational. The Darkness was what had left the men in that state. He still felt…not right, but not wrong. Not like them. He felt sick again, and he realized what it was. His magic was in turmoil, kicking up at him as it struggled to break his control and launch an attack against the wrongness of the Darkness. He pulled back at it and held it, calmed it. His instincts were fighting against his better judgment. The magic wanted him to act just as much as he himself did.

As much as he might hate it, he was doing it all for Arthur. And that, his one true sanctuary told him, was all that really mattered.

Lancelot knew his secret, but he didn't fully understand. Merlin didn't think he ever would, not until he was open about his magic. He had Gaius, and he had Kilgharrah. His time would come. _Patience is a virtue, Merlin_, he told himself with a sigh.

~...~

Arthur had noticed the flare of fury in Merlin's eyes; he saw his servant's face grow cold and shadowy. D_angerous_. Thinking that _Merlin _looked dangerous was almost humorous, but it frightened him more than he could say. Before Arthur could fully acknowledge his impulsive fear, the fire in Merlin's radiant eyes cooled, and they moved from his to the floor.

He only watched with vast bewilderment as the boy tangled his fingers in his raven hair and kneaded at his forehead with his palm. His eyes were closed tight, and a battle danced across his face.

"Merlin?" Gwen asked. She gently pulled his hand from his head and gave it a squeeze. "You've been acting all out of sorts today. Is something wrong?"

Merlin flashed her a grin. "Headache," he said, which wasn't too far from the truth. "Really, Gwen," he insisted cheerfully, seeing her look of disbelief. "It's been coming and going all day." Suddenly his stomach growled, and he clutched at it. "Ah, that's part of the problem," he muttered thoughtfully to himself.

Arthur thought that he had gone mad. "What the _hell_ are you talking about? You're talking absolute gibberish, Merlin!"

Merlin gave him his famous impish smile. "I forgot to eat again today," he explained as if that cleared everything up.

Arthur shook his head. Maybe Gwaine had a point. Sometimes he thought he knew his servant, but at other times, he was just as baffling as he was when he had first met the insolent boy. The memories brought a smile to his face. Goodness, how much had changed since then!

"Merlin, you're making me lose focus again," Arthur grumbled.

"Sorry," he responded cheekily.

Arthur sighed. "Alright. You, Merlin, need to get the camping gear ready. And for the gods' sake—_eat _something! We don't need you passing out along the way."

"What?" Merlin asked, tilting his head to the side slightly, utterly lost.

Arthur let out another sigh. He was losing patience now. "Percival," he said, pointing him out. "Go with him. Fill him in on the way. We need to get going."

"Why him?" Gwaine asked, pouting a little. _Lazy, obnoxious_ _moron_, Arthur thought to himself, almost fondly.

"Because I can trust him not to get sidetracked, _Gwaine_," Arthur answered.

"Can't argue with that logic," Leon whispered to Elyan and Lancelot. Gwaine gestured that he could accept that. Arthur was right, of course.

"And I know that he'll make sure Merlin eats something."

Snickers. Percival grinned sheepishly.

Arthur knew Percival was becoming famous amongst the Knights as one with a healthy, happy appetite. Even he was amazed at the amount of food the large man could consume. He had even heard some of his Knights and people beginning to call him "the Bear." (2) He had to say that it was quite an impressive, fitting, and inspiring nickname.

"You lot—you know what to do. Gwen and I are going to see my father before we set off. Meet in the courtyard in _one hour_. If anyone's late—" his serious eyes revolved around the group before finally settling in on Merlin "—I'm going to skin you alive."

Satisfied that he was understood, he took Gwen's arm and headed towards his father's chambers. Merlin and Percival trotted away to the kitchens, and the rest darted off in different directions.

~...~

Arthur and Guinevere walked in a companionable silence most of the way to Uther's rooms. They never dropped the other's hand, drinking in each other's presence and touch. Both of them were silent for one reason alone—Merlin.

When Arthur let lose a tired sigh, Gwen finally decided to speak. "I'm concerned for him, Arthur."

Arthur squeezed her hand. "I know."

"He's always been secretive," Gwen mused. "I never thought of him any differently, but this time there was more to it, Arthur. I'm sure of it. And now I realize I've seen this before with him. I've only just realized. I—I think he's… _hiding_, Arthur. He's afraid of something. Terribly, terribly afraid. I think he's been hiding for awhile, Arthur… but something—those men triggered that fear in him violently today."

Arthur didn't say anything and contemplated her statements. A year ago, he would've laughed and scoffed. He would've just thrown it all lazily out the window. He had changed.

He knew that Merlin was the cause. Never before had he been challenged. His whole life he had been given what he wanted when he wanted it. He had been provided for and cared for. Life was luxurious, and he—he admitted it himself—was a spoilt brat. But then Merlin stumbled into his life. Everything that he had neglected to see, everything he had neglected to be—Merlin saw and was. He was modest and eccentric and sensitive. He always had others' best interests at heart. He saw the world in the unique way and saw what it really was that mattered in life—loyalty, love, friendship…

He didn't realize how much light Merlin had added to his life nor did he fully realize the extent to which Merlin had changed him. Would he be holding hands with Guinevere were it not for Merlin? Would he even be alive were not for Merlin? He trusted no man more than he trusted Merlin.

Merlin too had changed.

He noticed the boy becoming more certain of himself. Wisdom was budding up in the boy—he was becoming more a confidant to Arthur than servant for it, a fact that Arthur hardly believed. And yet, Arthur knew Merlin was lost. He was searching for his place, still searching for something within himself. Merlin was different from the Knights. He had always been different. Arthur knew that since their mace war in the Lower Town all those years ago. He still hadn't put his finger on it completely.

It bugged him more than he'd care to admit. What could Merlin possibly fear? What was it that Merlin was searching for?

A weird feeling overcame him. It had an ominous feel to it—not stormy and evil, as it had when he left the infirmary earlier. No, it was warm and comforting...and golden like a sun-shower.

"I trust that he'll find his way, Gwen," Arthur muttered. "I've seen it too; he's been lost. But I have this—you'll think I'm mad—but I have this feeling that… " he paused, searching for words, "…something's about to happen. Something big. Merlin's a part of it, as am I. And when Merlin is part of it, I know everything will be ok. He has a way about him when it comes to bad situations, doesn't he?" He laughed in embarrassment. "I think I'm stuck with the idiot forever."

Gwen studied him carefully. "You two are like two sides of the same coin."

Arthur stiffened. "Where—where did you hear that?" he asked, unsure of why he was reacting this way.

"It was something I overheard Hunith say to Merlin when we gave them time alone…after Will's cremation. I didn't mean to hear it… D'you remember that?" Gwen asked softly. "In Ealdor? His home?"

Arthur nodded; he would never forget that.

"He was concerned for her, but she said his place was at your side. She said those words to him, and he replied that he'd heard it before. It hit me rather strongly, but I didn't fully understand it." She smiled her sly, knowing smile. "That is, until now."

Arthur was twitchy for no good reason. He hadn't heard the phrase before, but there was a familiarity that he didn't comprehend. And _Merlin_ had heard it _before_? A memory tugged at him, but it didn't fully form, and he dismissed it.

He might have not known it then, but Destiny was calling to him.

"He'll be alright, Gwen," Arthur said finally. "And so will we."

He pushed open the door to his father's chambers. "Father?"

"Arthur," King Uther said with a small smile.

Gwen smiled with pleasure. Uther was in high spirits today. This was one of the few times. Arthur, too, bounced with uninhibited happiness at the King's state.

"How are you, Father?"

For a moment, Gwen watched silently as the two men visited and then began to carefully straighten the chambers, only pausing in her work when Arthur spoke of what he had decided to do.

~...~

Merlin liked Percival. He liked the fact that he didn't need to fill every silence with chatter. He liked that the man knew when someone needed a moment to contemplate to themselves. Whenever they did decide to talk, despite his quiet manner, Percival was delightfully witty and had a sharp sense of humor. He was thoughtful and careful. He listened and thought through things meticulously, but he had a colorful creativity and imagination when the need called for it. He was quite a fellow, and Merlin was interested in the big man.

He didn't know that Percival felt exactly the same way about him.

Percival liked Merlin. He liked his cheery nature and was amazed at it, despite the pain he knew was inside. He liked Merlin's eccentric, spontaneous ways. He wasn't afraid to be different, and Percival admired him for it. Merlin was a good story-teller as well and had plenty of wondrous tales. Growing up as a child, story-telling was the most revered art. He liked how the boy always took him by surprise.

Percival watched the awkward lope of the boy, wondering how to get the boy to speak and what he could ask first without being shut out. Sometimes that happened, and he learned to avoid that. He waited.

"We're going after the murderer, aren't we?" Merlin asked quietly.

"Yes. I thought you didn't know what was going on?"

Merlin's lips twitched into a smile. "I'm not that moronic. I could easily guess… I just don't know his plan."

Percival pursed his lips. "There really isn't one. Just find the trail and see what we can do about it."

"_Foolish_!" Merlin growled angrily. "No plan—this'll turn out to be a waste of time! He _must _know that. Wouldn't it be better to send other… oh," his voice suddenly changed. Percival saw his eyes soften. "I know why he wants to go himself. It's the same reason I want to go—no matter how foolish."

"Why do you want to go?" Percival asked.

Merlin's blue eyes carefully observed him for a moment. Percival saw them lose their clear playfulness and become deep, deep and wise. "I have a feeling this will be bigger than just a criminal gone a little mad in the head. And Arthur knows I know." He groaned to himself, "I'm an open book."

Percival nodded his head. "I suspected as much. I think he's waiting for you and Gaius to come up with something, but he doesn't realize it."

Merlin smiled; it would be Percival that saw that. Percival was too observant for his own good. He just hoped he wasn't _that_ observant.

"Wait here," Merlin said kindly.

Merlin ducked into the kitchens and requested some dried beef, bread, and other travel necessities. While the kitchen-maids hustled about, Merlin quickly grabbed a wide napkin and dropped in several good-sized pieces of meat for Percival and then grabbed three hot rolls smeared with fruit preservative (3) and an apple. He left the steamy room and handed his companion the napkin filled with meat and settled to wait for the supplies.

"Is that _it_?" Percival asked, nibbling on a chicken leg, and glancing doubtfully at the bread in Merlin's hand.

Merlin looked at his food and shrugged. It was too much almost. He didn't like taking food from the kitchens. Being Arthur's servant, he was entitled to steal a snack now and then, but he was always uncomfortable doing so.

"No meat?" he asked curiously.

"No…" Merlin answered slowly. "I—lately I've only wanted to eat meat on special occasions, and when I really have to—like on missions and trips." (4)

"Why?" Percival asked, not expecting that.

Merlin said a bit sheepishly, "I've been a little turned off by it. Hunting with Arthur could do that to a person, I suppose."

Percival acquiesced to his reasoning even though he didn't fully understand how the boy could go without meat. He was already a tiny thing; he needed protein. The giant of a Knight chuckled, telling himself, S_top mother-henning_. Merlin knew what was best for him… excepting his tendency to forget to eat. That wasn't good.

A serving girl stepped out into the corridor, and Merlin accepted the package handed to him, thanked her, and motioned to Percival. They began to walk back to Gaius's chambers first, then they were to stop at Arthur's and then finally visit the equipment room, where all of the packs and bedrolls especially ready for missions such as this—unexpected and sudden—were kept.

"Can I ask you something, Merlin?" Percival said, rather awkwardly.

"Well," Merlin teased, "I believe you just did."

Percival took that as a 'yes' and pressed on. "Earlier… you mentioned serkets. And I was wondering—Leon told me what they were. They seem highly dangerous, and he admitted that he's only seen them from a distance and implied that he didn't know a living person that ever gotten close to one. Except—except… I think you have."

Merlin gave him an easy grin. "Arthur and I seem to draw monsters and magical creatures like flies to honey. I'm sure that Lancelot and Gwaine could back me up on that, though Arthur would deny it and put all the blame on me."

Percival chuckled. "What happened?"

Merlin thought a moment, not sure how to circumvent the magical bits. "Erm… Arthur wasn't a part of this one. It's funny—I tell him I was dying, and he didn't believe me…Long story short, they caught me unawares when I was otherwise preoccupied in the forest."

Percival frowned, knowing that was hardly the full story. "How did you escape?"

Merlin grinned mischievously, "Serkets aren't too fond of fire."

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><p>AN: (1) See my fic "Young Hawk" for a full account of this particular tale.<p>

(2) I know that in the legends Arthur's the one that's called "the Bear," and I, quite frankly, don't really understand why...not when it fits our Percy so much better. ;)

(3) Sorry if my mention to jam is inappropriate in their time period. I've read that strawberries weren't known then during that time, but Uther's constantly seen eating them. I think I'm at liberty then to say that Merlin can have his jam :D

(4) Merlin's new dislike of meat inspired by our dearest vegetarian Colin Morgan.

Hope you're not too angry with the chapter... and hopefully the next one will be up on time.


	5. What I Am

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin

Brief Author's Note: I couldn't help myself... There's a little more angst in the beginning, but the action is there. Trust me, my heart was racing as I wrote it. I think I got a little carried away *innocent grin* Oh, and I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors and such... and about the little cliff-hanger... ;) Enjoy!

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><p><strong>What I Am<strong>

Uther had not spoken another word during Arthur's visit, but his eyes were attentive. He listened to his son talk and understood what he was saying. Soon enough, however, he slipped away again into the agonized recesses of his mind and lost his focus as his son's words became no more than slight buzz in his ears. He still understood the words, but he felt that they hardly mattered. Only the pain was real to him. _Only the pain._

Arthur grew grim when this happened. He sighed often and finally he told his father what he was going to do.

"We're going after him, Father."

Uther's eyes stared, no emotion flickered across them. Instead, Arthur compensated by imagining what his father would think to his recklessness.

"I know, I know," he said, responding as if Uther had spoken. "It's irresponsible of me to leave Camelot when I'm acting as Regent. You may not believe it, but things are running well. Gaius will be here—I trust that nothing concerning the state will fail with him to guide the rest of the council in my absence. There have been no reports of any suspicious movements from bandits or anyone else, for that matter, friend and enemy alike." He tried to make a joke, "It's rather odd, but I'm not complaining. There has never been a more opportune time than now."

Arthur squeezed his Father's hand and leapt up from the wooden chair, beginning to pace. Gwen watched him anxiously. "Could you give us a moment, Guinevere?" he asked shakily.

Gwen dipped into a low curtsy—force of habit—and placed a hand on his arm, looking deep into his eyes, before slipping quietly out the door.

Arthur was silent for a few moments before he began to whisper again.

"He's near. The man, the murderer. He was last seen a day's ride away from the castle. He has the makings of being a really dangerous foe, Father. He's a man that needs to be dealt with before he completely loses his mind. He'll turn a serial killer, and when a man gives his life over to that evil, sometimes, there's no stopping him. He'll kill until he himself is killed. He becomes more and less than a man. He becomes a monster. But there's more, Father. There's a beast out there, too. Possibly magical. Both Merlin and I feel the storm clouds gathering."

"Father…" Arthur put his head in his hands. "You probably think I'm foolish for not deciding to send others out in my stead…there's a reason. I can't—I can't pretend to be what you have been, Father. I can't do what you do. My flesh and blood may've been born to be King, but my spirit wasn't. I can't sit here any longer. I need to be out there. I need to ride, and I need to fight. I need to be free to be my own man. I need to make myself a King out of what I am and not what you are."

Arthur felt his eyes blur, and he brushed at them brusquely. "I hope you approve. I hope you understand." He gripped Uther's shoulder, and to his surprise, Uther looked at the firm, but trembling hand on his shoulder and then up into his eyes. There was no emotion that Arthur could detect, and he dropped his hand, embarrassed that he had poured out his heart to a man who couldn't listen.

"Good-bye for now, Dad," he said. He couldn't recall the last time he called Uther that. "We will come home soon."

Arthur turned his back and left the room. He did not see a lone, crystal tear slide down Uther's cheek and a smile touch his lips.

~…~

Gaius was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice Merlin or Percival crash through the door.

Percival stood about awkwardly, feeling much too big to be in the room, and Merlin walked up behind Gaius, reading over his shoulder.

Gaius felt a presence behind him and jumped in surprise once he saw Merlin's face grinning at him. "Merlin!" he scolded. "Don't do that; you scared the life out of me."

"I'd say sorry, but you deserved it," Merlin teased easily. "Have you found anything?" His clear, blue eyes skimmed over the page.

"Nothing," Gaius grumbled. "I've looked and searched. I can't find anything that remotely matches." He removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. "I may have to go to Geoffrey to see what he thinks of this."

"It appears that Arthur is depending on us for a real plan. Do you have any theories?"

"Not any more than you do, Merlin," Gaius said quietly, his eyes drilling into his. Merlin bit his lip, knowing that Gaius was considering what had happened in the infirmary.

"It—it was…" his eyes flashed over to Percival, who had moved out of the doorway and was now glancing around, taking in his surroundings. Merlin didn't think the man had ever been in Gaius's rooms before.

Merlin leaned in close, so Percival wouldn't overhear, "I've never felt magic so Dark, Gaius. My magic rebelled against it."

Gaius gave him a concerned look. "There's no talking you out of it, is there?"

"No hope whatsoever," Merlin agreed cheerily.

"Well, be careful," he said, giving his ward a bear hug. "I need to be with Oscar. I will see you when you return."

"How is he?"

"He sleeps soundly. That's a good sign, but I need him to drink more…" Gaius said absentmindedly. "Take care of yourself, Merlin. I mean it."

"When don't I? Wait, don't answer that… Good-bye, Gaius," Merlin laughed.

While Gaius was still closing the door behind him, Merlin quickly darted to his room and got his pack ready. Out of habit, he checked on his magical stash.

His heart dropped. The book… the book wasn't there. It wasn't hidden under the floor boards with his Sidhe staff as it should have been. He cast his eyes about in frenzy, but the book wasn't anywhere to be seen in his room. Where did he last leave it? _Where_—? Oh no.

A crude swear word slipped off his tongue as he dashed back into the main room, hoping that he hadn't left it in the complete open. How could he have been so stupid as to leave it out in the first place?

It was worse than he imagined. His uncooperative fingers dropped his pack.

The book was lying open, _wide_ _open_, and Percival was staring down at it with awe.

Fear clutched at his chest, and he felt he couldn't breathe. He grew cold and hot at the same time, and he waited with an apprehension so large that it hurt. He couldn't move; he couldn't speak. His whole body trembled with the force of the anxiety.

After what seemed like hours, Percival raised his head to look at Merlin.

"You really shouldn't leave your magic books out in the open, mate," Percival said with a straight face. Inside, he was hiding a smile. Everything made sense to him now.

Merlin, who was ready to deny everything and anything, felt his mouth drop open, and he started in surprise, backing away from Percival. "Wh—what?" he asked weakly.

Percival closed the book and slid it across the table to Merlin. Merlin hesitantly picked it up and ran his hand impulsively over the leather cover.

"Merlin, you look like a ghost come back to haunt us," Percival joked, smiling.

"You—you…?" Merlin didn't understand. His head spun, and he started to hyperventilate. _What the hell was happening?_

"You have magic," Percival said straight-forwardly. Merlin flinched and hid his eyes, still expecting the worst.

"Merlin, look at me," Percival ordered kindly. Merlin raised his eyes, so full of pain and horror at him. "I know you're afraid, but you don't have to be."

It took a moment, but Merlin began to calm at the steady, warm eyes. There was no fear there; nothing but an amusement and a genuine amazement. He took a few deep breaths, and a little shaky laugh escaped his lips. "Of all the ways…" he finally said, "Of all the ways someone could've found out—_this_! I left my damn book out!"

Percival laughed. "Thought it would be more romantic? More...story-like?" His eyes danced.

"And you!" Merlin squeaked. "How are you not—I mean—don't you hate me?"

"Of course not, Merlin!" Percival assured him, smiling broadly. "Hell, it makes me like you even more! I see everything so clearly now; it's as it should be. I see the reasons behind everything you do. I can't believe I didn't suspect before!" He thumped Merlin amicably on the back. "And well, there's another reason. D'you remember what I hold you about my people?"

Merlin nodded, not sure were he was going. Percival told him that his previous home was on land that wasn't commanded by any one kingdom. It ruled and governed itself, and Percival spoke fondly of its independence, its peacefulness, and its quirky, yet incredible, soul-lifting traditions.

One of the traditions that Merlin had learned of was the story-telling. Percival wove into words his people's passion for it. He spoke of the joy of hearing tales of wonder and adventure, romance and misery. He spoke of the feeling he had when he saw the words painting pictures in the air and how it felt to be able to travel in the words to places beyond what he knew. _Words are like magic_, Percival had said.

He spoke of the way he felt when words flowed from his tongue in his own stories. He spoke of the coming-of-age tradition when the whole village came together to celebrate and to hear you tell your first major story. It was meant to symbolize everything that you stood for and everything that you were.

It was during his coming-of-age celebration that his people were attacked. He was the only one to escape and survive. That was why he became keen to practice the sword—it seemed to Merlin that it was a universal motivation for commoners. Lancelot too had a similar story.

"I didn't tell you all, Merlin," he admitted. "I didn't know who I could trust yet with it…But I can trust you. I'm sorry I doubted you.

"My people and a large band of Druids were sister neighborhoods, Merlin. It was ancient, the ties between us, and over time, we became a part of them, and they a part of us."

Merlin's eyes widened. "You grew up around magic," he breathed in amazement.

Percival nodded, and his eyes became wistful. "We were all friends. We might not have lived together, but we ate and traded, fished and hunted as one. We helped each other out and laughed together. We shared stories. Stories were our magic, Merlin, just as much as their gifts were to them." Percival swallowed convulsively. "It was Uther who attacked us. He found out. Despite the fact we were far from his realm, he punished us for our affiliation with the Druids, and he recognized our small, pure magic. I only survived because of them. The others—" he choked, the bad memory not allowing him to continue.

Merlin was completely entranced and overwhelmed. All this time, he had someone who understood right in front of him. A swell of jumbled emotion crashed over him.

Percival recovered. "I thought I would have hated the Pendragons. They took everything away from me. I...I'm ashamed to say that I wanted revenge. It poisoned me. I wanted Uther dead; I wanted to be the one to do it... But the Druids...they knew that that wasn't me. They helped me regain my wits before I could've done something I regretted—and trust me when I say, I was damn close." Percival released a shaky breath and ran a hand threw his hair. "They went so far as to trust me with summaries of their ancient prophecies about the Once and Future King…and then... their hope, their faith...they believed so much in the future. Even with the little they told me, I finally felt...not forgiveness...but perhaps a form of it. Once I came to this, I knew that I would go to the ends of the earth to protect Arthur. I know that's your reason. I know that's why you first began risking your life to be here…Emrys."

Merlin stiffened again, his mind in a whirl-wind. Percival watched and waited patiently for his friend to speak. Finally, a slow grin spread across his face. "I was expecting something far different than this, Percival. I—I can't even begin to describe how much…"

Percival bowed his head in understanding. "Arthur would do well to remember that you cannot help your true nature…you cannot help what you're born with."

He wasn't surprised that Percival knew that as well. "He can't… not yet," Merlin whispered. "I'm waiting for the right moment. It won't be this easy with him. He's had his father to thank for that."

A silence…"Were you ever tempted?" Percival asked quietly.

"You wouldn't be human if you weren't once tempted," Merlin answered seriously.

Merlin fiddled with the book, still over-whelmed by what had just occurred.

"I have hope now, Merlin. Everything the Druids told me about Arthur and the future of this land would be lost without you."

Merlin snorted. "How can an idiot like me, an idiot who can hardly put one foot in front of the other without hurting himself, an idiot who can hardly get anything right, give you hope?"

Percival shrugged. "A modest, loyal, and _gifted_ idiot," he corrected, a smile on his face. Merlin didn't look like he believed him. "You can change the world. I'm here because I believe that each of us can help you accomplish that. Don't doubt yourself. Trust in your destiny, and trust in your magic."

"You're beginning to sound like Kilgharrah and Gaius," Merlin muttered. He winced. Oops.

"Who's—?"

"I'll tell you later," Merlin promised. He started for his room to properly hide the book "We need to get going."

Percival agreed and said, when Merlin came back into the room, "I was beginning to think I'd never see magic free again. Before we go, can you—can you show me?"

Merlin smiled and held out his hand, palm down, towards the pack on the floor. His eyes flared gold, and the pack smoothly floated up to his hand. He caught it.

Merlin felt free. Here was another that he could be himself with.

Percival felt like he had finally found home again.

~…~

Arthur was expecting to beat Merlin to the courtyard and was preparing an impressive scolding for him when he appeared late, but to his surprise, everyone was waiting for _him_. And there was Merlin, holding the reins of both his horse and Arthur's.

Merlin was _glowing_ with happiness. He smiled and laughed and bounced eagerly and excitedly on his toes. His energy and his joy was utterly addictive, and it permeated even his gloominess after seeing his father. The Knights laughed along, teasing and punching each other, feeling the effects of Merlin's sunny personality penetrating even their defenses.

"He looks a lot better," Gwen said, watching Merlin's interaction with the other men. "I'm never going to understand what goes on in his mind."

"I don't think any of us ever will, Gwen," Arthur agreed.

Gwen caught sight of the grin spreading across Arthur's face and kissed him. "This is what you were meant to do. Go."

Arthur kissed her back. "Good-bye, Gwen. Take care."

~…~

Nothing much interesting happened during their travels. The Knights joked around, passing the time by verbally tormenting each other. Alliances were formed and broken, and the target seemed to change constantly.

Inevitably, Merlin was the most targeted, especially after he tripped when leading his horse across a small stream. He was wet the entire day.

Merlin was in high-spirits. Everything that he felt earlier, any anxiety and any fear he felt from the power of the Dark magic was pushed away by his incredulity at Percival's discovery of his powers. The most incredible part of it all was that nothing had changed between them. If anything, Percival was more open and more outgoing than before. He wasn't like Lancelot, who Merlin had caught giving him odd looks on occasion. Merlin wouldn't blame Lancelot for still being a little ill-at-ease at the knowledge of his secret, but the fact that someone else—other than Gaius and the Dragon—completely accepted him and what he could do… he was thrilled.

They found a good place to camp right before sundown. They all rubbed down, fed, and watered their horses and then volunteered for different duties. In no time at all, camp was set up, a warm fire crackled, and courtesy of Leon and Arthur's hunting skills and Merlin's cooking, a rabbit stew was on the way.

Merlin called to them once the meal was ready, and they all took a place in a big circle around the fire. His part done, Merlin sat back and picked through his stew, listening intently to Elyan speak.

"Eric told me that Spillard—" he gestured on the map he had just unfolded from his saddle bag "—was the village nearest to their campsite when they were attacked. If anything, we can pick up the trail there."

"Excellent," Gwaine said. "Spillard has a great pub…"

He stopped at the strict look on Arthur's face. "All right, all right. Serious missions equal no taverns… But—" he pulled one of his water-skins from the pack next to him "—I managed to find a loophole." He took a swig, grinning cheekily.

"You are impossible, Gwaine," Leon said.

Arthur said, all business, "Gwaine's right about one thing. It is excellent. We made good time. It's only a few hours ride from where we are now."

Gwaine belched, and that effectively ruined the group meeting. They goofed off and horsed around for an hour more before Arthur tamed them by saying that they were going to set off extremely early and by threatening them to get some sleep.

Gwaine had the gift of falling asleep in any position at any time, and he complied before Arthur finished his threats. His little snores whistled through his nose.

"Amazing," Elyan said, shaking his head.

"Does anyone want to volunteer for first watch?" Arthur asked, unbuckling his sword belt, very obviously not wanting to volunteer himself.

Merlin was going to volunteer himself because he didn't mind first watch. It was those middle watches that killed him. But Percival beat him to the punch.

"I'll do it." Percival grabbed his sword and a water-skin filled with actual water and found a good log to sit on for the next few hours.

The rest of the group settled down. The day had been trying—what, with the excitement of the wounded party and the long, humorous ride—and they all fell asleep to the sounds of the night and the sight of flickering firelight skipping across the trees.

~…~

It slithered from shadow to shadow. There was a new moon, so the pale glow that might make its own shadow appear was missing. Its soft footfalls barely made a sound, and its movement compared to the breeze playing with the leaves of the trees around it, natural and soundless.

It took a deep breath. It smelled the hint of rain in the north; it smelled the darkness and the silence; it smelled _them_. Its next play-things made good time during the day, but now it was night—its domain. They wouldn't stand a chance against it.

It followed their trail and found their camp. The firelight was low.

The colors! It hissed with pleasure at the sight. The colors, disorienting and wild, called out to him. They pulsed and glowed. Venom trickled down its lips; such a feast!

It had never seen such colors. His preys were good people, with hardly an evil bone in their bodies. Good, pure people like that had mouthwatering colors.

It saw the sentry, a giant bear of a man, that the group had chosen. The man threw off a deep jade green. It knew it was going to have to steal that color.

It greedily observed the motionless bodies, drinking in their colors. It knew Arthur Pendragon's in an instant—a deep, gorgeous blue, accented with a royal purple that almost formed an indigo color.

It was going to enjoy that one… but then its eyes settled on the raven-haired lad sleeping fitfully next to the Pendragon. He was gold, brilliant and sparkling, pure and glorious. Magic. It repulsed it and attracted it at the same time. So beautiful, so delicious. So dangerous, so…_powerful_.

Its black lips twisted into a fanged smirk. Another interesting challenge in the game? Fine. It was more than ready to play.

~…~

Percival had been awake for two hours already on sentry duty. He was starting to feel a bit sleepy, and he knew that he would wake someone up to relieve him soon. The low, hypnotizing movements of the fire didn't help matters much. He got up with a slight groan to tend the fire…

He froze. The natural rhythm of the night, which he had become attuned to during his watch, faltered, and he sensed something wrong. His eyes scanned the trees, and he squinted at the shadows. He felt a movement behind him, and he turned, beginning to yell for his friends. The last things he was aware of were the horrible eyes, but then…._nothing_.

~…~

Merlin turned in his sleep, his nightmares making him restless and making him sleep in a half-sleep. He whimpered softly in terror of his dreams, not realizing his dreams and reality were beginning to parallel.

Suddenly, it was too much. His gifts jolted him awake, and he yelled, a force of energy flowing through him and ramming the dark form hovering over him with the strength of a charging warhorse.

The thing was thrown back, and it hissed in irritation.

Merlin's yell sent the Knights into action. They awoke and lunged for their weapons without a second's thought, yelling and searching for the threat.

They all followed Merlin's horrified stare.

It was pale, ghastly pale, with its veins a vivid black web lacing across its humanoid form. It had long black claws, sprouting out of its middle three fingers and a thorny, spike-encrusted tail. Little circular bulges studded its brow. Its face…. It had teeth filed to a sharp point, the two largest being venom-leaking fangs that curled over its blood-encrusted black lips. Its eyes were pits of blackness, dark and empty chasms of evil, its pupil a cat-like slit of glowing red.

Merlin felt the Dark magic radiating from it, and he couldn't stop shaking with fear as it glared at him hungrily. A gray, forked tongue flicked at him.

Gwaine was the first to recover, and he yelled savagely as he lunged at the monster. The rest followed his lead, galvanized into action. Merlin couldn't move or shout out as it smiled lazily at him, feeling his terror. He couldn't avert his eyes.

While Gwaine was the first to attack, he was also the first to fall. The creature moved with the grace and speed of a snake; it twisted away from the blow and lashed out smoothly with its claws, cutting deep into Gwaine's chest. Gwaine crumpled with a pained cry, but the creature, in the same swift movement, grabbed him, holding him up, and bit at his neck. Its tongue swept across the bite.

Gwaine screamed, and suddenly, with a tendril of Dark magic and a draught of his blood, the creature made Gwaine go limp. It tossed him aside, eyes glowing at the approaching Knights with glee. Its teeth were stained with blood.

Merlin leapt up, his magic forcing its way out once again. Without a word, a branch of firewood sparked to life. He felt the creatures eyes swivel to him briefly at his use of magic, and with adrenaline and instinct overcoming his mind-consuming and knee-shaking fear, Merlin grabbed the torch and ran to help the others.

The Knights had seen what had happened to Gwaine, and having learnt from his mistake, they formed a circle around the snake-man. While they leapt in from all sides, swords flashing with a cruel light, it avoided them all and danced among them with ease. Its smile grew as it cut Elyan down with a nasty wound to the side, but before it could use its Dark gift, Arthur sliced at its arm.

The blade diverted as though the creature were made of stone. Arthur's eyes widened, and he relentlessly sped up his attack, bashing the creature with everything that he had.

Leon was taken down next; it managed to catch Leon by the wrist, and it yanked him into the middle of the circle with him. Lancelot and Arthur, the only two left standing and sweating profusely, hesitated; they did not want to accidentally hurt their friend.

Their hesitation was enough. They saw the creature bite him and suck at the wound, and they saw Leon's eyes dull as he was carelessly tossed aside.

It turned its sardonic, evil grin to Arthur, and it giggled at the outrage on the Prince's face.

"NO!" Merlin's eyes flared gold, and the natural torch he was holding spat large sparks at it.

Its smile morphed into a grimace of pain, and it snarled at Merlin as the sparks that landed on it burned its skin and as smoke twirled up in little plumes from the spots the sparks touched. The warlock darted in between Arthur and Lancelot and the creature, his back to them, and brandished the flame at it.

"Merlin, you idiot!" Arthur shouted, voice cracking. "What are you doing?"

Unwilling to be distracted, he didn't respond, watched the creature, and pressed back at it with his magic, his eyes glimmering a steady, bright gold all the while.

~…~

It was in pain. The brat had sent fire at it, and his eyes…the gold was becoming hateful to him. He hated the feeling of the Light pushing and combating against it. The gold was painful. It wasn't expecting such pain... nor such _power_. It had sensed some of the power, but it had underestimated the boy. Never again. It was too bright, too much.

It wanted the man with the dark eyes, the one with an orange color—but it couldn't take him, not with the two blue-eyed men there.

It saw the colors of the Prince and the Warlock melding together, mixing and folding in as one. It saw the magic, the steel, and the fire. For the first time, it felt fear. An instinct told him that he needed to retreat… until next time.

Suddenly, it gurgled its hoarse giggle and leapt up, high, landing in the branches of a tree.

"Well, that wasss a thrill. Your friendsss were quite deliccccioussss," it hissed from the safety of its tree. The three winced at its voice—it was as though a man's hoarse, horrid voice and a snake's spitting hiss combined into two, creating a double-echo. "But the game hasss jussst begun. I will have your blood and your color, Pendragon. And _you_—" it hissed at Merlin, pointing with its middle claw and its eyes narrowing with hate, "—_you_ will sssuffer before I dessstroy you."

It leapt away, and the only suggestion of its movement was the dip of branches under its weight as it jumped from tree to tree.

~…~

While Merlin fell to his knees and shook violently, Arthur and Lancelot stood frozen in shock. The only sounds that pervade their silence was the crackle and pop of the torch still in Merlin's hand, the renewed sound of crickets, and the wind.

"How—how did you know?" Lancelot choked finally. "About the fire?"

Merlin shivered and closed his eyes. "Something that cold and Dark is bound to be afraid of something so bright and warm," he muttered. "That is how it is in battles between good and evil."

Then, Merlin fainted.

* * *

><p>AN: 1) WOW! Even I was surprised with myself when I wrote a Percival Reveal. A lot of writers do Gwaine, but I decided on Percy. Hope it works for you. 2) I know, I know! I'm horrible! I did away with the Knights! You'll figure out what happened to them *cue Gaius's wisdom* and why Lancelot was the only one to survive alongside Arthur and Merlin, of course, soon. The others, I regret to say, were a bit in my way *little apologetic grimace* I have nothing against them, I swear! But for the story to continue, it was necessary. ;) I hope you don't mind the cliffie too much.<p> 


	6. Gehaele

Disclaimer: I.D.O.M. (I don't own Merlin) I was sick of writing the full thing out, so I made an acronym

Author's Note: I know I promised Gaius wisdom and a revealing of the creature (the Gvarath) and its powers, but I got carried away with this a bit. All the explanations would have made this chapter far too long. **(Edit 06/12: Lol, that's ironic! I used to think 4,000 word chapters were too long? *rolls eyes at self* Silly me.)** I apologize; it does drag on a little.

Also, I'm glad quite a few of you were receptive to my leap with Percy. To those I disappointed, I'm genuinely sorry. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Gehaele<strong>

Merlin awoke to a gentle shaking of his shoulder and to a not-so-gentle splashing of water in his face. He spluttered and sat up suddenly, pushing away at the hand—Lancelot's, he realized—that was now thumping him frantically on the back. He took a few deep breaths of the crisp, night air and tried to make sense of everything through his disorientation.

"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," Arthur said with a forced grin. His voice sounded unnatural and strained, which made the joke to rid the tense atmosphere weak and ineffective. "Told you it would work, Lancelot," he murmured under his breath.

"C'mon," Lancelot muttered, ignoring Merlin's protesting pushes. He pulled the resisting servant to his feet, and shooting a terrified glance toward the prone bodies of their friends, he said anxiously, "Merlin, we need your help. _They_ need help."

Merlin finally blinked the bleariness away, and a horrifying awareness of the situation came crashing back down on him like a waterfall. The others! They were wounded! He lunged away from Lancelot's grip, only to stumble to his knees again. Lancelot caught him. "Get your bearings first, Merlin. Quickly, please!"

Merlin bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. His magic had acted of its own accord again—the strength of it was incredible, and that must've been what made him lose unconsciousness. _No doubt_ _Arthur's going to think I fainted dead away for fear of the demonic thing_, he thought wearily. It may not have been the truth, but it was a very near one.

"Gods! How long was I out?" Merlin asked, ashamed of his shaky state.

"Erm—barely a minute. We ran to the others," Lancelot blabbered desperately. "We staunched the flow as best as we could… Elyan's in bad shape, Merlin, and Gwaine's bleeding quite a bit too…."

Merlin watched as Arthur rushed back to the motionless figures, obviously trying to do some good, but not helping in the slightest.

"Right." Lancelot saw Merlin's eyes lose the last of their dazed confusion and grow hard and serious. The servant gathered himself up, removed Lancelot's grip from his arm, and steadily began to lope to Arthur's side. "I better take care of this before he does any more damage," he said loud enough for Arthur to hear.

Lancelot, amazed at Merlin's endurance and fast recovery and satisfied the warlock was awake and well enough to throw a joke at Arthur, chuckled weakly and followed him.

Merlin took stock of his friends' wounds with a practiced eye and winced at Percival and Leon's blank eyes. Percival had no wound on him, and Leon only had a few shallow scratches and a bite mark from the creature. The two inept Knights had patched him up quite adequately, so Merlin was free to focus on the real problems.

It was Elyan and Gwaine that scared him. Even with his calm head for sickening sights, he still winced at the amount of blood. It was everywhere, staining everything. He knelt in the grass beside them and felt it seeping into his trousers, and it was drenching the flimsy, makeshift bandages that Arthur and Lancelot had made from torn horse blankets. It was sticking to their wounds, and he knew that could cause even more damage. He needed to get them into fresh bandages… some of the balm and herbs that he stole from Gaius's stores… a knife…needle….

He fumbled towards his pack near his bedroll. "Someone tend to the fire. I need some light," Merlin commanded quietly, unlatching the buckle and straps with trembling fingers.

"I will," Lancelot said, almost eagerly. Merlin knew that the Knight would jump at the chance to keep his distance: he was a little more squeamish than Merlin, having not had the same amount of exposure to bloodshed and other malicious afflictions as Merlin had. Furthermore, Percival and Leon's blank, staring eyes…. Merlin suppressed a shudder, and his heart leapt into his throat.

_The fire will keep it away_, he repeated to himself. _The fire will keep it away_.

~…~

Arthur stood about, pacing and fidgeting, not really sure what to do with himself. Merlin had replaced his usual carefree grin to "The Face" he knew only too well from Gaius. It was this experience that made him know that Merlin wouldn't want to be troubled or bothered by anything that didn't pertain to his work. But leaving Merlin alone, and not acting or doing anything to help wasn't working for him very well.

~…~

Merlin decided that Elyan needed attention first. His breathing was shaky and shallow, and his eyes were spinning crazily behind closed lids. His pulse was weakening. Merlin began to carefully, but quickly, cut away at Elyan's shirt and peel away the soaked fabric. Firelight suddenly poured across the clearing.

Merlin gasped in horror and looked away. He took a deep breath through his mouth and then exhaled through his nose, just as Gaius had taught him. As he pressed against the deep, gruesome wound in Elyan's side again, Merlin shook his head in amazement that the man was still alive.

He knew that the physician's craft was not enough to save him. He needed to use magic, and that was going to make this difficult.

He quickly began wracking his mind for any reasonable excuse to get Arthur away. He had one idea, one bluff, but he had little hope it would work.

"Arthur, I need you to get some water," Merlin said from between clenched teeth, allowing his calm mask to slip and allowing his fear for Elyan to become blatantly present in his voice.

Under normal circumstances, the Prince would have taken this opportunity to haughtily tease Merlin about the big gap between their social statuses, but the thought never crossed his mind. He was still holding the water-skin that he had dumped on Merlin, and after looking down at it, he swore.

Merlin swung around his head at the curse and saw that his bluff had worked. "You prat! Run! Elyan is…"

Without hearing another word, Arthur, suitably guilt-ridden and fearful to be the cause of Elyan's death, sprinted away to find the nearest stream.

~…~

"Merlin," Lancelot called softly, leaving the fire and coming over with a full water-skin that Arthur had neglected to notice in his panic.

Merlin didn't respond. He removed the wet, sopping fabric from Elyan's side once again and whispered forcefully, "Gehaele."

Lancelot felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine as Merlin's familiar blue eyes blazed with gold. The warlock closed his eyes, and his hand hovered over the mortal wound across Elyan's stomach and hip. The next seconds were interminable as Lancelot waited and watched, his eyes flashing from Merlin's painful grimace to the rush of free-flowing blood and back again. Elyan's breathing quickened and became increasingly shallow, but suddenly, when the dark-eyed Knight caught sight of the deeper part of Elyan's wound beginning to stitch itself back together, his jaw dropped.

~…~

Merlin probed with his magic towards the wound. He finally had learned from his many failings that saying the word "heal" in the ancient tongue of magic wasn't enough. He learned that one had to _guide _the magic through the wound, as a physician would with needle and thread. The words only sent the strands of the magic towards the wound; it was the job of the sorcerer to see it through…to see that the magic traveled smoothly and renewed every wrong. He had to see that it did what it was meant to. It took a lot of power, concentration, and skill. But he had been practicing...and practice makes perfect.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. When he could do no more, he released the magic with a sharp, shuddering gasp. Elyan's chest lifted up in a deep breath, and then sank back down slowly. His breathing was no longer choppy and shallow, but smooth and deep in his now-peaceful slumber.

"Are you alright?" Lancelot asked shakily.

Exhausted, Merlin wrinkled his nose and smiled weakly. "If only… I didn't _faint _earlier...Dark magic_…_I could've—could've done more," he said breathlessly.

"Look at how much you did," Lancelot said, awe coloring his tone.

Merlin shook away the blanket that Sleep was offering to him and forced himself to focus. He was still needed. He needed to be awake.

Merlin's surprise jolted him awake. The wound was now only a fraction as deep as it was before and only a third as long. It was still deep enough to need stitches, but he no longer saw neither the pure white of Elyan's bone nor the brilliant red of Elyan's life seeping away.

"Whoa," Merlin breathed.

"Understatement of a lifetime. I could see that was no simple magic either. Well done."

Energized by Lancelot's praise and his success, Merlin's smile became stronger, and after quickly grabbing his supplies, he cleaned the wound and began to stitch. The firelight made the needle flicker and flash in a beautiful, harsh pattern.

Merlin heard Arthur's labored breathing and loud crashing through the underbrush shortly after he had begun stitching. He was grateful for Lancelot's interception of Arthur when he burst into the clearing, seeing as there was no time for distractions. Merlin absentmindedly nodded in thanks when Lancelot brought the water to him, and he pretended to use it for Arthur's sake.

Once he was done, he smiled wearily, told them Elyan would be alright, gave the two Knights instructions on bandaging, and then went to Gwaine.

Gwaine was in a better condition—they were just grazes in comparison to Sir Oscar's wounds—but Merlin couldn't stand the sight of his lifeless eyes staring up at the stars. Those eyes were so full of laughter and jest…now… _gone_.

_Not gone_, Merlin told himself determinedly. No matter how petrified he felt at the sight of the creature, no matter how paralyzed with fear at its power, no matter how much pain that fear and its horrible magic caused him, he was going to find a way to fix this.

Merlin winced every time he touched his friend: the Dark magic sent waves of nausea and fear into him that he tried very hard to ignore. Since Gwaine was lucky to not need any stitches, Merlin successfully had medicine applied and bandages done in no time at all, much to his relief. He retreated, not wanting to look at the three who had been touched by the Darkness.

Only then—when their friends were treated, comfortable, and resting—did they finally realize the nightmare that they had just fallen into.

~…~

Arthur was amazed once again by his servant. They all could have just died during the battle if it weren't for Merlin's swift impulsiveness. Elyan and Gwaine would have died from blood-loss if it weren't for Merlin's calm steadiness. Thanks were necessary.

"You—you were incredible, Merlin. There's no other word for it. Incredible," Arthur whispered, poking a stick at the fire.

Merlin raised a skeptical eyebrow, but his eyes danced. "Was that actually a compliment?" he teased sleepily, his body swaying in his effort to fight off sleep.

Lancelot frowned. "Merlin, you're exhausted. You need to sleep a few hours. We aren't going to be leaving any time soon—not with that…_thing_—" they all shuddered and absentmindedly fingered their weapons, "—out there."

Arthur was about to insist as well, but then Merlin rolled his eyes with a small smile. The firelight cast eerie shadows across Merlin's face, and it made his clear, blue eyes even more defined than they usually were. They were hard and stubborn. He knew that the young man was determined and that nothing would deter him, so he gave up before he had even begun. However, given the way Merlin's eyelids fluttered, the Prince, with a small, fond smile, guessed that his servant would probably end up falling asleep anyway, no matter how determined he was to stay awake.

Arthur continued softly, "You were so calm-headed just now, working on Gwaine and Elyan; that saved their lives, Merlin." He saw Merlin's eyes glimmer with a hint of pride, and Arthur couldn't help smiling. He knew that the bumbling fool probably didn't get many compliments like this—especially not from him.

"And although it was rather idiotic, what you did—stepping between us and it like that..." he paused, uncertain how to continue. "Thank you, Merlin. Your quick thinking saved us all. Well… um…for the most part," his eyes flickered over to the general area of the rest of their party.

Merlin flinched, his eyes dimming. "Only Dark magic could do such a thing," he whispered. "I can't imagine what it has done to them."

Arthur nodded; he knew it was magic. "Have you ever seen anything like it in Gaius' books?" Arthur asked, knowing that both the physician and his ward had quite an aptitude for finding knowledge on magical threats.

Merlin shook his head. He and Gaius had looked through those books more times than he could count. In fact, some of them were ingrained in his memory, from beginning to end, and he knew he would remember seeing something like that. Drawing his knees up to his chest, the warlock said so: "No one would be likely to forget those eyes in a hurry."

Another collective shudder ran through the group, and a silence hung over them, each of them left with their own dark thoughts.

Arthur pushed away the images of the creature. He didn't want to think about that or about what this called for him to do next. Instead, he sat back and studied Merlin, whose blue eyes stared off unblinkingly into the trees. He didn't really glean anything from it, but he watched him all the same.

His pride and fondness for Merlin swelled in his heart. He was taken aback by the boy's courage and his intelligence in the fast-paced and terrifying attack. The servant had been all but unarmed and unprepared with that stick of fire and still charged in to the battle, and even though he had fainted afterwards—Arthur promised himself he wasn't going to ever say a word about that—Merlin was the bravest of them all. The fainting episode worried him: Merlin was hardly weak-hearted, so the Prince knew it wasn't fear alone that made him faint.

But his recovery! He had leapt up without a thought to help. Arthur wondered if there was a limit to the amazing person before him. He wondered if there was a boundary to Merlin's pure character. He didn't think so, but then he remembered seeing that dangerous, frightening look in his servant's eyes earlier that day. Something made him think that he did not ever want to see Merlin truly enraged.

All of a sudden, realization dawned on him: Merlin was more than scared of the creature. He was terrified to the deepest core of his being and harbored a fear more powerful than any of theirs, including his, and he was plenty afraid of it. Yet, here Merlin sat, fighting to hide it from them. That was true bravery.

Finally, the silence was broken. "D'you think it'll—?" Lancelot whispered hoarsely.

"We'll be safe in the daylight," Merlin murmured confidently. "If it doesn't like fire, it's safe to assume it won't like the sun."

Lancelot couldn't hide his sigh of relief.

Arthur blinked. "I didn't think of that! You know, Merlin, you can be very clever."

Merlin's eyes twinkled. "That's two genuine compliments in a matter of minutes. I'm beginning to think you're the one that needs some sleep," he said, his words beginning to slur together.

"Don't get used to it, Merlin," Arthur said in his familiar caustic tone.

"That's better," he sighed, his eyes blinking slowly. His head nodded to his chest, and he fell asleep, right where he sat.

Lancelot gently laid Merlin down and covered him with a blanket. The Prince and Knight watched Merlin's peaceful face as he slept. His lips were partially open, and there was still a hint of a smile there. His even breathing was making of lock of his dark hair flutter across his forehead, and the sound calmed their uneasiness.

Arthur hoped that Merlin didn't dream any dark dreams that night. He deserved that much...especially when it was waking up that was going to be the nightmare.

Lancelot spoke, voicing the exact question Arthur had in mind, "What are you going to do now?"

Arthur was silent for a moment. "We're going back to the castle. Our swords do not harm it, and damn, that thing can _move_. I also have a feeling that fire will only go so far. We need to find a way to destroy that thing. Then, I need to find a way to help the ones that live with no life."

Lancelot bit his lip. "What of its threats against you…and Merlin?"

Arthur winced. He had been working very hard to keep the thing's words from his mind, and now Lancelot brought all of the raw fear back. Arthur swung his eyes to sleeping man once again, wondering why it had implied even more horrifying plans for Merlin than it had for him. "We'll just have to take it one step at a time," Arthur muttered.

The firelight twirled and danced, as if there wasn't a care in the world.

~…~

Merlin awoke just as dawn was arriving. He had had a dreamless, painless sleep, and he felt refreshed and energized, ready to take on the challenges he knew were on the horizon.

When he noticed the Knights rushing around and hurriedly packing their camp, he sat up and asked indignantly, "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Someone's got a temper in the morning," Arthur commented.

"Me? Hypocrite," Merlin retorted, folding his blankets.

"You needed to sleep, Merlin," Lancelot insisted.

Merlin opened to mouth to speak but stopped abruptly, fear rippling through him at the sight before him.

Percival was saddling his horse with sluggish, careless movements. Leon was standing near, arms hanging listlessly at his side. His eyes stared at nothing; his posture defeated and lank. Gwaine, too. Despite his wounds, Gwaine was standing, next to Leon, exactly the same, statue-like presence. Horrible blankness radiated from each man.

His heart leapt to see Gwaine alright, but at the same time, he couldn't stop a tear from tracing down his cheek. "No," he whispered, brushing at it violently.

Arthur watched his servant's raw emotion, a similar pain in his heart.

Lancelot explained in kind words, "They respond to our voices, but they do not recognize us. They do not remember their names. They haven't said a word nor have they done anything without us first telling them to do so. They don't know themselves anymore…They just…_are_."

More tears spilled down Merlin's face, but it was far too late to try to hide them. He hugged himself and sank to the ground. "I couldn't—I was too slow," he said under his breath. He blamed himself, and his guilt felt like an arrow to the heart. "I'm going to make this right," Merlin said in a strong voice, his magic voice. "I will not rest."

He saw Arthur and Lancelot's eyes widen and saw their exchange of glances, but he pretended not to.

"Elyan?" Merlin whispered.

"He's still sleeping," Arthur said. "Whatever you did, Merlin, it's helping him immensely. Oi!" he said suddenly.

Merlin saw Leon, Percival, and Gwaine all slowly—and quite creepily—turn their heads towards their Prince's voice.

"You," Arthur pointed to Leon, "Saddle the last horse."

Merlin couldn't watch anymore, his friends' plight making him ache to the bone. Instead, he went over to Elyan.

"How are we going to move him?" Merlin asked.

"Made a litter," Arthur said absentmindedly, glancing at the pink line in the east. "We need to move out as soon as possible. It's safe to move him?"

Merlin nodded, and suddenly Elyan's brown eyes slid open, and he shifted his body. Immediately, the pain fully awoke him, and a small whimpering groan escaped his mouth. His eyes held pain and confusion; he was disoriented, but he relaxed when he saw Merlin's face above him.

Merlin let out a relieved breath, and he smiled shakily. "It appears that the claws alone do not hold the magic that stole the others' life."

"He's awake?" Lancelot asked. Both he and Arthur rushed to his side.

"How d'you feel, Elyan?" Merlin asked, putting a hand on the man's forehead and ignoring the Knights. He wasn't really planning to pay attention to the answer; he just wanted to hear him speak. That was the sign of recovery he was looking for.

"I—I was dying, Merlin," Elyan croaked. Lancelot handed over a water-skin, and they all carefully helped the man sit up to drink. Elyan winced and then sighed as the cool water ran down his throat.

"I don't know how you did it, Merlin. I was nearly gone—the pain—I felt Death reaching for me…" he cut himself off, a tremor running through him. "I have you to thank for my life," Elyan tried again.

Merlin smiled modestly. Elyan was going to be alright. "Ssshh, just rest for now. I need to check on your stitches."

They laid him back, and Merlin did so. Elyan was quiet as he reapplied some of Gaius's balm and bandaged him with some fresh linen. Merlin couldn't stop himself from checking Elyan's eyes, just to see that he wasn't deceiving himself. He was still _there_—no Darkness had taken his life from him.

"When did you start carrying these supplies, Merlin?" Arthur asked out of the blue in surprise, as though he had only just realized what Merlin was using.

"Ever since I became confident that I wouldn't hurt anyone when I tried to help…and ever since I realized that, no matter where we go, we _never_ escape bad luck." Arthur barked a laugh.

Merlin finished up in no time, and as the Knights lifted Elyan onto the litter, he checked over the others. He tried to avoid touching their skin, but sometimes, it was inevitable. The Darkness washed over him with every brush of his skin against theirs. He gritted his teeth against his horror and sickness at their _wrongness_.

Within minutes they were ready, and one determined warlock, who was reliving the events of the night before to see if he could find anything useful for the next confrontation, two Knights—one wounded and now in a terrible shock and the other unharmed and grim, one Prince, who was thinking along much of the same lines as Merlin, and three half-men, with no interest or thought whatsoever in their empty eyes, rode for Camelot.

* * *

><p>AN: Pinky swear-All questions will be answered about "colors", the Gvarath, and what really happened to the Knights in the next chapter.<p> 


	7. Aura Thief

Disclaimer: IDOM

Author's Note: And here we are! The answers! I hope everything makes sense, and I hope you like it. :) Enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Aura Thief<strong>

Before the door to his chambers was fully open, Gaius pulled Merlin in and tackled him with a hug. His weary ward patted him awkwardly on the back and gave him a lopsided smile as he gently pulled away from the embrace. Gaius ruffled the raven hair affectionately, and he had to smile as Merlin squirmed away.

"I saw you from the window," Gaius explained, cutting off a questioning glance from Merlin. Merlin nodded and opened his mouth to speak again. "And I suppose we need to get the infirmary ready…again," Gaius said, turning away and gathering his things.

Merlin's lips twitched into a smile. "Thanks, Gaius."

"No, thank you for taking care of yourself for once."

Merlin pursed his lips for a second, and then said, "Well…that's not exactly—"

"Oh, don't tell me that, Merlin," Gaius ordered, walking out the door and then to the infirmary. Merlin followed, tripping twice on the way.

Gaius nodded to the two maids that had been assigned to keep an eye on things when Gaius wasn't around. He couldn't hide his smile at the soft giggles and whispers, blushes and flirtatious batting eye-lashes that suddenly erupted when Merlin stumbled in. The boy, however, was oblivious…as always.

"I'd rather be blissfully ignorant of what you did to put yourself in danger," Gaius finished.

It was at that precise moment that Arthur and Lancelot carried in Elyan, who was sleeping again, and that Percival and Leon, moving without purpose, helped Gwaine in. Gaius's eyes roved over the group of men and sighed, "I see you now have to tell me _everything_."

Gaius dismissed the maids, and they left with even more giggles than before...though when they caught sight of Elyan and the half-men, they silenced and darted away without a second glance behind them. Gaius grumbled under his breath and then directed Arthur and Lancelot to a bed to place Elyan in, and he took Gwaine from Leon and Percival with Merlin's help and lowered him to a bed. Gaius gently forced Leon and Percival to sit down.

Gaius immediately went to Elyan's side, and he recognized Merlin's hand in the treating. "Alright," he said, pushing up his sleeves, "Let's see how you did, Merlin."

Gaius unwrapped the bandage; the only sign that he noticed Merlin's magic was a slightly raised eyebrow, but in truth, Gaius was in awe. He could see that this had been a fatal wound—very deep, very large. He wondered how long Merlin took to do this. What remained… the amount of power it took…that was incredibly miraculous, even with someone of Merlin's talent. Gaius realized that the boy was growing stronger, at a rate he had never before seen the likes of.

He turned his awed gaze to Merlin, whose head was in his hands. Gaius felt a heart-wrenching stab of sympathy for the boy, and he whispered with pride, "It seems as though you've done all my work for me and beyond, Merlin."

He saw Merlin's eyes flash to Lancelot and Arthur, who were watching with interest from the nearby beds they had just sunken into. He knew that Arthur was fidgeting with impatience to ask his questions and move into action. Lancelot, on the other hand, was sitting back and resting.

"Well done, my boy," Gaius said, replacing the bandages once again with fresh ones.

"Thank you, Gaius," Merlin said.

Gaius noted that Gwaine's wound bore no signs of healing magic. It confirmed his thought that Merlin had nearly spent all of his energy on Elyan. Gwaine had been properly taken care of, as had Leon, when he checked.

Satisfied with Merlin's work and with his patients' situation, he sat next to Merlin and said, "What happened?"

Merlin's blue eyes were shattered with pain and sadness, and his face paled. Gaius saw an even darker presence there: fear.

Lancelot was the one to speak for Merlin. "It came from nowhere, Gaius. It ambushed Percival, who was on watch, and Merlin somehow managed to warn us before it had us all." He shivered. "It was horrifying."

"What did the creature look like?" Gaius asked.

"It is nothing we have ever seen before, Gaius," Merlin whispered hoarsely. "Its eyes—its eyes had no whites to them. They were black, all black. I never knew that black could get that dark. Except for the pupil—"

Gaius froze, a memory stabbing into his vision. "Please don't say it was scarlet, Merlin," he interrupted with a tremor in his voice.

"That would be a lie. It was glowing red and feline," Merlin said, watching his mentor with a deep foreboding settling in to his stomach when he recognized the look on Gaius's face.

Gaius moved with a startling swiftness. He stood and clenched his hand into fists so tight his knuckles became white. _No_, _it couldn't be_, he told himself over and over. _And evil that ancient alive today? Impossible…._

"Gaius?" Merlin's voice brought him back from the past to the present. The boy's innocent eyes cut through Gaius's heart. He had never been more afraid in his life for Merlin and for Camelot, and there had been plenty of times when he had been afraid.

"Do you know something about it, Gaius?" Arthur asked hopefully.

Gaius let out a shaky breath and began to explain, "Many years ago, when you were but weeks old, Arthur, a man—starving, grubby, and half-mad—came to Uther and presented an ancient book to him. It was a book on the history of magic and prophecy—the earliest history, back to the time of the Elder Dragons."

Gaius sensed Merlin tense, but he didn't question the reason for it.

"The man had begged him to take it from him, to take it and destroy it. He warned of the consequences of allowing the book to exist. He said it held terrible knowledge. His warnings left me quaking in my boots.

"Uther was quite keen on the task. The man said it was magic, after all, but the instant Uther took the book from him, the man crumpled—dead."

Gaius shuddered at the memory. "Nothing worked. He tried burning in, dropping it in boiling water, tearing it to shreds, dumping acid on it… Nothing would destroy it. I suspected magic would, but you can imagine the King's reaction to that. He gave up and ordered me to put it in the Vaults. He believed placing it there would solve all the problems.

"Uther had not allowed _anyone_ to open the book. He was afraid of what might be unleashed. His worries were ill-founded. I knew it hadn't the magic to tear down the kingdom—like Sigan's crystal heart had, for example—and down in the Vaults, I opened to a page with an illustration of those very eyes. I had nightmares for weeks."

The three seemed to be holding their breaths. Merlin was studying Gaius closely, and the others waited expectantly for more.

Arthur broke the silence, "Do you recall what exactly it is?"

"No, Sire," Gaius said. "I couldn't get past those eyes, but—"

"We need to get that book," Merlin interrupted, leaping up with a fiery earnestness. "I'll go—"

Merlin started to rush for the door, but Arthur lashed out a hand and caught his wrist. "Wait, I'm coming with you."

"Why?" Merlin asked in genuine surprise, his head tilting to one side.

Gaius wanted to slap the boy upside the head. _You're not thinking, Merlin!_ he scolded. It was this kind of thing that was going to get Merlin caught one of these days. He knew that Merlin was more than capable of breaking into the Vaults—he knew that the warlock had done it on many occasions—but Arthur was the only one with true access to them.

"Oh, I don't know," Arthur began sarcastically. "Maybe it's because I'm the only one _with the keys_, perhaps?"

Merlin's brow scrunched, as if wondering why the keys were important, before his eyes widened, and he said simply, "Riiiight."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "What's the book look like Gaius?"

"It has a—a rune on it…I cannot describe it," Gaius said to Arthur. He swung his eyes to Merlin. "You will know it when you see it."

"But—" Arthur began.

However, Merlin nodded in understanding, grabbed Arthur, and began pulling the resisting Prince out of the infirmary. The Prince began yelling at him, but Merlin ignored him and called to Gaius and Lancelot, "We'll be right back!"

Gaius sighed, giving Lancelot a look. He quickly looked to Elyan, who was sleeping fitfully. He quickly reached for some water and a sleeping draught. When Elyan drank a suitable amount of water and a gulp of the draught, Gaius motioned to Lancelot to follow him back to his private chambers. He sat down at the "talking-table" as Merlin had recently dubbed it.

"I suppose it's down to you to tell me everything. Don't leave out a single detail, Lancelot… Merlin's magic—it's growing to such potency—he hasn't told me. I need you to tell me, to the best of your capability, _everything_ that happened."

For a second, Lancelot looked taken aback by Gaius's easy conversational tone about the magic, quite surprised that the physician knew he knew, but then he laughed to himself. That was silly: Merlin told Gaius everything. Lancelot recognized the bond between them being far stronger than that of a mentor and ward. It was _very _silly to be surprised that Gaius knew.

Lancelot, with a bit of embarrassment under the intensity of Gaius's stare, began to speak.

~…~

"Are you completely _mad, _Merlin?" Arthur said loudly. "We're off on a wild goose chase!"

Merlin sighed. "Arthur, I live with Gaius."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Arthur asked angrily.

Merlin couldn't keep the amusement from his voice. "Gaius and I are surrounded by books, and believe me when I say that I know books. I don't need any more information than 'it's ancient', 'it has a very intricate rune on it', and 'you'll know it on sight'."

Arthur huffed, not really understanding but accepting Merlin's explanation. He picked up his stride, walking even more briskly than before. He snickered when Merlin, who wasn't prepared, lurched forward as his boot caught on something.

Arthur led Merlin purposefully to his chambers to get the keys. He wasn't surprised to see Guinevere sitting at his table, fiddling anxiously with some sewing she was trying to concentrate on. Arthur had allowed Gwen to have constant access to his chambers since he knew she was still struggling to adapt to her new place in the castle and since he knew that she was a bit uncomfortable in her new room, which had previously been Morgana's. His eyes hardened at the thought of Morgana. He thought it was a bad idea, but Gwen insisted. She wanted somewhere she was familiar with, but it was hard for her to be in that room sometimes.

"Arthur!" she cried, leaping up and embracing him tightly. "Merlin!" She gave him a gentler hug. "I'm so glad you are alri—what's wrong?" she said, her face falling.

"Not all of us are alright," Merlin started hesitantly.

"Your brother was injured, Gwen," Arthur said. "It's thanks to Merlin that he is alive at all."

Her olive-toned skin paled. "Oh, no…." She brushed her lips against Arthur's cheek and gave Merlin a half-hearted smile. "I must see him."

"Go on. We have to find something for Gaius—he'll explain," Arthur said to the written question on her face.

"Thank you—both of you." Gwen turned on her heel, still clutching at her embroidery as she rushed out. Arthur watched her go with a soft look on his face. _My poor, Gwen_, he thought. She wasn't going to like what he was going to have to do.

Merlin slinked over to Arthur's bedside chest and grabbed the keys. "Here, Arthur," Merlin said, tossing them over. Arthur snapped from his reverie caught them from midair, and the two continued to the Vaults.

~…~

Merlin liked the Vaults. A lot of others in the Lower Town told horror stories about it, saying that it was haunted by the ghosts of old kings and evil sorcerers. Uther had let the rumors grow and spread. It would keep people from being too curious for their own good and coming here to steal the dangerous treasures.

That didn't stop Merlin. He liked the solitude and the quiet. He liked the sound of the dripping from the small, stubby stalactites hanging from the ceiling. He liked the smell of the magic. There was plenty of it down here. Some of the things were so powerful, Merlin had no idea how any magical person let it fall into the hands of Uther Pendragon. Maybe they had had no idea of its power, but Merlin did. Quite a few of these objects could destroy them all. However, there were many more of them that were quite beautiful and hardly had any real power in terms of misery and destruction, yet they were here as well.

Arthur unlocked the door, and Merlin walked in. He avoided gazing at the pouch he knew held the Crystal yet he felt its pull to him anyway. He saw the Fisher King's trident, a griffin talon from the very one he and Lancelot felled, and quite a few other things that brought memories rushing back to him. Beside him, Arthur contemplated the mess of stuff, and he too was having trouble shaking the memories—good and bad.

"Do—do you remember everything, Arthur?" Merlin asked quietly, picking up the chalice that he had been poisoned with. He looked at his reflection surprised by the changes that had occurred in his face since he last looked in the reflective metal. Nimueh's magic had permanently cursed it—that was why it was down here.

_This was the first time Arthur had done something willingly to save my life_, Merlin thought. _Look at the two of us now—nearly fighting with each other to be the one to die for the other._

Arthur nodded a small nod, gently taking the chalice from Merlin and turning it over in his hands. "It's the history of everything we've been through," he whispered.

Merlin felt a shiver run down his spine. "Isn't that amazing? Every little dangerous keepsake on the top layer of all this mess is a memory of our age."

"It'll all die when we do," Arthur said, dropping the chalice.

Merlin shook his head, the words the Dragon spoken about their tied destiny ringing in his head. "Never."

Merlin avoided Arthur's curious and confused look, and he reminded him, "We have a book to look for."

"Right," Arthur took his key ring out again and looked for a specific key. "From Gaius's explanations, it must be in the other room."

Uther had set aside a special room for the much more dangerous artifacts. Merlin had studied some of them, and there were quite a few magic books down here with spells that Merlin had never heard of and had thrillingly learned.

He frowned. How had he not noticed this ancient book earlier? Gaius had said it held the knowledge of the origins of magic. If it held knowledge that powerful, it was bound to leave a mark, and it confused him that he had missed it before.

Merlin, as always, felt a shock at the force of the magic coming from the room as Arthur held open the door. He hesitated a second, letting himself drink it in. Only then did he step in.

Arthur turned in a circle, his eyes looking critically over for the book.

Merlin saw nothing, and as Arthur began to dig around through a stack of books. Merlin, an idea coming to mind, closed his eyes. He allowed his magic to pervade the room, and he Sensed the different flavors and colors of the magic of each object around him. He read them all, meticulously searching…and searching…

_There_! It was surrounded by a subtle magic—something he recognized as the simple magic of knowledge. There was one part of it, though, that pulsed with power. It was like the book had its own heartbeat.

He opened his eyes and went to the book. The alcove where the solitary book sat was tucked away in the corner, not really hidden, but not completely in open sight either. It was ancient, made of tearing, dusty brown leather that looked soft and worn. The binding was frayed, and it was bound with a strip of what had once been a deep blue ribbon, he thought, and buckled with tarnished gold.

And the rune! He couldn't put into words how to describe it. It held the whole magic of the book. It was beautiful and harsh, simple and intricate. Everything about it was an oxymoron.

It was the heartbeat he had Sensed. It was magic—everything that magic was, everything that it is, and everything that it will be was imprinted into that one rune. That one rune held the very secret to the origins of magic, the very meaning of the word _magic_. It was awe-inspiring to behold, and Merlin felt himself change—the slightest of changes—with the wisdom of it.

He didn't realize that Arthur was behind him until he touched him on the shoulder. A shock jumped through him, and both he and Arthur drew themselves away from the other. They both gave each other weird looks and then decided to dismiss it.

"What were you just doing?" Arthur asked instead. "You were standing here—staring—for five minutes. Didn't you hear me yelling?"

Merlin shook his head and stepped aside so that Arthur could see what it was he had been looking at.

Arthur felt it too; Merlin saw it in his face. He didn't understand it, but he felt it.

"Gaius was right. You'd definitely know it on sight."

"I told you," Merlin said, a smidge smugly. He untied his red neckerchief and carefully wrapped the book up in it. He knew that if he touched it with Arthur around… it would be worse than touching the half-men.

He stared at it, realizing that this was their answer. A small part of him relaxed. Step one could be considered completed.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin's careful treating of the book and teased, "Are you afraid that your dirty hands will soil the book, Merlin?"

"Something like that," he answered cryptically.

He sighed. "Let's go then."

~…~

Gaius was making Lancelot anxious. The physician was mumbling to himself, and his eyes were filled to the brim with an unwavering concern and fearfulness. The physician had been awestruck by the tale, but Lancelot knew that Gaius was withholding a lot more of his true reaction about Merlin's part in this. He knew that Gaius also was taking the creature's threats to both Arthur and his ward to heart and was really worrying about what the future might hold.

They had returned to the infirmary and saw that Gwen was there, stroking her brother's forehead.

"Merlin did this?" Gwen asked, before they could greet her.

"Yes, Gwen," Gaius said, understanding that she was really asking if Elyan was only living because of Merlin.

A tear fell down her cheek. "You've taught him so much, Gaius."

"You don't know the half of it," Gaius said truthfully with a proud smile.

"What happened?" Gwen asked softly.

Lancelot sat by her, fighting to push away his desire to reach out and touch her hair, and began to explain. By the time he was done summarizing, Arthur and Merlin burst in with the book wrapped up in Merlin's neckerchief.

Lancelot and Gwen exchanged a glance. His heart melted at the sight of her tear-filled brown eyes. Lancelot tore his eyes from Gwen's and leapt up, observing the book with interest.

When he decided the book was anything but interesting looking for something so important, he noticed Merlin. His brow pinched together at Merlin's odd behavior around the book. He was being extraordinarily careful not to touch it, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from looking at it or tracing his fingers across the neckerchief-covered spine and cover. He didn't fail to notice Gaius and Merlin lock eyes, and neither did Gwen or Arthur.

Lancelot was worried about Arthur. Lancelot knew that Merlin had progressively changed him. He saw the Prince becoming more thoughtful to others and more sensitive. The Prince was seeing more now, Lancelot realized with a jolt of fear. Merlin needed to be more careful. Arthur was beginning to pick at all the oddities and signals that he had once never noticed, the ones that Merlin used to take for granted when supernatural things happened and when he needed to communicate silently with Gaius.

"No trouble finding it?" Gaius asked, taking it away from Merlin.

"Nope," Merlin said, speaking more with his eyes.

"Alright then. Let's see what we've got."

Gaius opened the book and gingerly flipped through the pages until he found the page with those terrifying eyes.

Lancelot and Arthur winced at seeing the eyes again, but Merlin's reaction was more violent. He backed away and had to look away. Gwen gasped and averted her eyes as well.

Gaius shuddered and covered the illustration with a piece of Merlin's neckerchief. He began to read, and Lancelot waited tensely, every remaining thread of hope for some good news being snipped away at each passing second.

"This—this isn't good," Gaius finally said.

"Tell us," Merlin said hoarsely.

"It is called a Gvarath."

Even the name sounded evil to Lancelot. His eyes revolved around the circle of people, watching Merlin more often than not.

"Gvaraths were a tribe of magic-practitioners back in the time of the Elder Dragons. The Elder Dragons were the very first race on this world—according to this book—and were a part of this world even before man-kind." His eyes quickly scanned the page again, and he summarized, "The Gvarath tribe practiced human sacrifices to their dark gods, and they were cannibals—their line of thinking was that it would give them the wisdom and power of their gods. They ate human and animal meat raw and drank animal blood."

Everyone was horror-struck. Merlin looked like he was going to throw up, and Gwen looked horribly faint. Lancelot wished she wasn't here to hear this; Arthur had much of the same thought.

"Oh gods, they're like vampires!" Merlin exclaimed. He looked repulsed and fearful at the same time.

"Don't be such a _girl_, Merlin. Vampires don't exist," Arthur said. "_Vampires_…who ever imagined them first must be completely mental, twisted in the head."

"They're better with their imagination than some people," Merlin muttered.

"I have plenty of imagination, _Mer_lin!"

Yeah? You call a beast that looks like a griffin 'with the face of a bear'—"

Gaius have them his famous look, and Arthur and Merlin sat back, suitably chastised, glowering at each other. Arthur gestured him to continue.

Gaius rolled his eyes. _Leave it to those two to fight like children during a time so serious_, he thought.

He continued, "They trained for most of their life in the Dark Arts, and those that didn't were trained as fighters, assassins, hunters, stalkers, torturers… They were brutal and cruel. They were heartless—most of their sacred rituals focused on pain, blood, and mutilation. They thought it a form of strength."

Gaius's eyes skimmed over the book. "They have a cruel, nasty, _bloody_ history that I'd rather not read at all. Anyway, those who were deemed worthy after training as Dark sorcerers or as skilled fighters were offered the opportunity to bond themselves to a sacred snake. It was called a Shthorok—the shadow snake. It was a snake that they believed it was sent by their gods as a gift directly from the darkest pits of their underworld. It was a great honor to be chosen by one and bonded."

He paused, running his finger along the lines, his nose crinkling in disgust. "No need to get into detail about the bonding. The important thing is the power the bonding had given them. Those that were chosen by the Shthorok gained more magical power, more stamina and speed. It is said that even the Dragons feared their might. They became more animal-like and even more ruthless. They became unstoppable. They also gained the power to... steal _auras_."

"Oh no," Merlin whispered, he grabbed at his head with both hands.

"_Auras_?" Arthur asked quietly, his gaze going to Percival, Leon, and Gwaine.

"In legends, the _aura_ is spoken of as the projection of the soul," Merlin said. "The soul is internal—everything that you are, everything you believe and stand for; it is home to your very self. Deep inside you. Supposedly, _auras_ are the visible part of the soul. To those who have the gift for seeing them, they are a color, surrounding your whole being and representing everything you are. Your _aura_ catches the changes in you, from the effects of the battles and challenges you face to the effects of the smallest, most subtle of things like newfound love and friendship, and if it changes your core being—your soul—enough, your _aura_ color will change as well. The imprint of the soul is in the _aura._ They are connected. The _aura_ does not exist without the soul, and without the _aura_…the soul loses itself. Without a soul, a body is nothing. Without a soul you cannot live. Without an _aura_—well, Percival, Leon, Gwaine, and the soldiers are examples of that..." he trailed off, and then shook his head, exclaiming, "I didn't really think I believed in _auras_, Gaius… I thought it was hocus-pocus nonsense!"

Lancelot's mouth dropped, and when Merlin saw that his other companions had as well, he blushed.

"How come you're so knowledgeable?" Arthur asked in dubious amazement.

A smile touched Merlin's face. "D'you remember the time you asked me that same exact question? When you were being forced to marry Princess Elena?"

Lancelot saw the color come back to Gwen's face, Merlin unknowingly making her feel better by hearing this.

Arthur nodded, and Merlin said with a straight face and dancing eyes, "Same book."

Lancelot watched the two men with awe. Sometimes their interactions seemed completely normal—that of two people who didn't want to admit their friendship—but then there were instances like this, when it was deeper than that.

Arthur shook his head for no apparent reason and turned again to Gaius, "D'you believe this, Gaius?"

"I'm afraid so, Sire."

"So everyone…has a _color_ associated with their being?"

"Yes."

"Is it unique to every person?"

"As unique as the soul," Merlin butted in.

"But there's only a limited amount of colors, even if you incorporate shades."

"Pick a color," Gaius said.

"_What?_" Arthur asked in surprise.

"Green," Gwen offered.

"Alright. What d'you think of when thinking of green?" He winced at the poorly phrased question.

"Wilderness, trees and meadows…" Arthur said thoughtfully.

"Mystery," Merlin added. "And seclusion."

"Peace," Arthur said.

"Freedom," they said together.

"There's also the phrase: 'green with envy'. You see? The color can mean anything to anyone. One person's _aura_ of jade green is totally different from the next person's jade. It's all perception, and it's all about the individual."

Merlin was watching Arthur with a small smile in his eyes. He didn't think that the Prince would be so curious about something that was closely related to magic.

"How does it take _auras_?" Gwen asked next.

"Dark magic, mostly. I cannot explain that." Lancelot saw Merlin flinch and his breathing hitch. "But also, their venom and drinking their victims' blood can do it. Their magic is in the venom too."

"What does this mean for them?" Arthur asked grimly, sweeping his hand at the half-men.

"They will live, but they cannot be themselves again until their _auras _are returned to them."

"How do we do that?" Merlin asked, his voice barely audible.

Gaius gave him a pained look. "The only way to do that is to kill the Gvarath."

"Swords cannot touch it," Lancelot said. "They rebounded. It nearly pulled my arm out of the socket."

"Fire—?" Merlin began.

Gaius checked the book. "Flames only sting a bonded Gvarath and make their skin smoke."

"So the sun…?"

"It only remains out of sunlight because the light blinds it from seeing the colors of _auras_. Its eyes are also more adjusted to the darkness."

"How can it be killed?" Arthur asked, incredulous.

"The book does not say."

"Why aren't there any left?"

"From the way they're written, it is suggested that they killed themselves off."

"And this one…?"

"That is the mystery. I don't know how a Shthorok managed to survive all these years. I'm beginning to think that this foe is invincible. I don't think even magic alone can destroy it." Gaius shut the book, which suggested that there was nothing more to learn about the Gvarath.

"No," Merlin breathed. "No," he said again slowly, his eyebrows pinched together. "NO!" He shouted in denial. He leapt up with determination. "I won't accept that. There _has _to be a way!" He ran from the room.

"Merlin!" Gaius cried.

"I think he needs to be alone, Gaius," Arthur said. Lancelot was surprised at the words but said nothing.

Gwen bit back a sob. She didn't see much hope for their friends. "Arthur," she said, scared at the blank, stubborn look on her love's face. It was amazing how much it matched Merlin's. "You can't honestly be thinking of going after it now!"

"Imagine living without a purpose, without a drive or a dream. Imagine living without _anything_," he said quietly. "What a tortured existence! I'm not going to let it take any more people, and I want my Knights back."

Arthur turned to leave, but Lancelot jumped up and caught his arm. "Sire, it's almost sunset! There's nothing we can do for now. We need to get some rest—think on it—study the book some more. Maybe there's a clue in some other part of it. We don't want to do this blindly."

Seeing Arthur's reluctance, Gwen stepped forward. "You won't be helping anyone by going now."

Arthur looked into her eyes, and finally, his body language suggested that he would submit.

"Lancelot," Arthur ordered, "Make sure you rest, too. And Gwen—"

"I'm staying up with Elyan until he awakens," Gwen whispered. She kissed him on the lips, which made Lancelot cringe a little on the inside. "Go rest, Arthur." Then she leaned up to whisper in his ear. "You probably will awake to a solution cooked up by Merlin. Gaius and he will probably pour over that book later."

Arthur nodded, and Lancelot couldn't help but notice the Prince throw a strange look at the book before saying goodnight and retiring. Once he was gone, Gwen went back to Elyan's side.

Gaius was checking up on all his patients, but he was still obviously worrying about Merlin. Lancelot looked curiously at the book, not understanding why both Arthur and Merlin had seemed so drawn to it.

"Gaius," he called softly. The old man looked up. "Is that alright if—?"

"Of course, Lancelot. I know you must be too tired to go to your own bed tonight. Our doors are open."

"Thank you. Goodnight, Gaius. Goodnight, Guinevere." He ducked out of the room.

Though he had hardly gotten any sleep the night before, Lancelot wasn't tired. His head was ringing with the information, creating a natural high.

He entered Gaius's chambers to find Merlin perched near the windowsill watching the sunset, deep in thought.

"Merlin?" Lancelot asked cautiously.

Merlin jumped, causing several of the heaps around him to slide and fall. "Jeez, Lancelot!"

"I'm sorry."

Merlin turned his head back to the window, a furrow appearing between his deep, wise eyes.

"You have an idea," Lancelot guessed.

Merlin turned back to him and gave him a semi-bitter smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You will not like it. Gaius will not like it. I don't even like it."

"I'm in, Merlin. You're the only one with any lead."

Merlin took a deep breath. "I'm going to have to check the book… but not now…He's my only chance," he said, talking mostly to himself.

Lancelot searched his face and grew worried at the torment on Merlin's face. He knew things were about to get dangerous.

"You don't know what you're signing up for," Merlin warned.

"I want to help," Lancelot said resolutely.

"Do you trust me, Lancelot?" Merlin asked, his brilliant eyes drilling into Lancelot's. They were still wise-Merlin's eyes—deep, cool, and serious.

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

The wise-Merlin eyes smiled, and Lancelot saw both the wise-Merlin and the goofy-sunny-Merlin merging into one.

"You may now," he said, half teasing and half sad, "but I'm not so sure you will after this."

* * *

><p>AN: I really want to finish this story before school starts, but I'm not sure it's gonna happen. It is getting more complicated than I thought it would :P. I hope you liked my references to previous episode, and I threw the vampire comment in for my own amusement. (Sorry, Twilight fans). Also, I'd like to mention that the aura-stealing after-effects were inspired by the Dementor Kiss from the world of Harry Potter.<p>

:D


	8. Song Prophecy

Disclaimer: IDOM

Author's Note: Thank you for reviewing, everyone. Since I had no complaints about the clarity of this _aura_ stuff, I'm assuming that it all makes sense. That's good. This one was a toughie for me to write, and it took quite a long time, so forgive my mistakes. I didn't edit it as thoroughly as usual. I hope you all approve. Oh, and finally! I didn't think I'd ever really find a place to tie in the title of the fic (which was somewhat random), but inspiration strikes me at the oddest times. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Song Prophecy<strong>

Merlin's boots pattered softly against the flagstones, and Lancelot followed closely behind, his movements a little more awkward than Merlin's in his nervousness. He had never snuck from the castle before—he did not count that time he was in Camelot when the griffin was attacking—and he seemed genuinely surprised that Merlin was such a seasoned sneaker. The warlock himself usually didn't think much of his late night adventures because they had become so familiar and so much of a part in the secret life he led, but under Lancelot's wide-eyed gaze, Merlin had felt naked.

He wished he had warned Lancelot where they were going. If the Knight was so surprised that he continuously snuck out of the castle, he definitely was not going to have much fun tonight. _I am a coward_, he thought to himself. He was afraid that if he told Lancelot where they were headed, the Knight would turn back. It was selfish to let the Knight go on when he wasn't being one-hundred-percent truthful with him, but he needed Lancelot. Unwittingly, his ignorant courage in the face of the unknown, dangerous night was giving Merlin the strength to keep going.

They both pressed their backs to the wall, and he studied the movements of the guards. _Should be easy as pie_, Merlin thought. Not that it ever was any different. One of these days, he was going to have to have a serious conversation with Arthur about those guards.

"Do not make a direct line for the trees; stick to the shadows," Merlin advised.

The Knight nodded and fiddled at his sword hilt. He looked up at the dark, cloudy night sky.

Merlin once again was struck by the man's courage and willingness to continue. When he had told Lancelot that he needed to go out of the castle walls, the Knight had merely nodded. The only sign of his fear was his clenched jaw and tense lips.

Merlin suddenly signaled to move. They dodged from shadow to shadow, pausing motionless every time the guard on the battalion paced where he could easily see them.

When they made it to the safety of the forest, Merlin lit the torch he had brought without a spell, making Lancelot jump noisily.

"Sorry," Merlin muttered, ignoring Lancelot's incredulous look.

"I thought you…?" Lancelot trailed off, his eyes moving to the torch.

Merlin mumbled modestly, "I do not always need a spell." Merlin saw Lancelot flinch subtlety, but he ignored him. "Keep your sword out, Lancelot. It may be near."

"Swords don't harm it, Merlin."

"But they do distract it," Merlin disagreed. He turned and started to lead Lancelot down the familiar path he had made for himself through the deep wood.

"Gaius said he thought magic alone couldn't harm it either. What d'you think?" Lancelot asked him.

Merlin chewed his lip. "He's right," he admitted reluctantly. "I have been thinking about the battle last night. It was hovering over me before I yelled. I tried to push it away with my magic, and it did back away from me. It wasn't the intent of the magic that pushed it away though. I think the _physical_ aspect of my magic seems…distasteful to it. Despite that, I think there is some way my powers can help."

"So…what's this idea of yours?" Lancelot asked.

Merlin winced and looked back at Lancelot apologetically. He had not gone into much detail. He swung his head back. "We are going to see someone who might have an idea as to how to kill it."

"In the middle of the woods?" Lancelot asked in disbelief.

"Not necessarily," Merlin said, avoiding a fallen log. He directed the torchlight for Lancelot to successfully leap over the log as well.

Merlin kept his focus on his feet and where they were going. Even though this journey was ingrained in his mind, he didn't want to make a mistake. There was no time for that. He still jumped at every noise, every snapped stick, and every rustle above and below the trees' leafy branches as night predators moved about. Those noises used to calm him every time he walked this way, but tonight, they were doing everything but. Lancelot too was constantly twitching and nervously swinging his head from side to side.

They continued on in silence and fearfulness for some minutes before Merlin finally deemed it appropriate to call him.

"I'm going to call him now, Lancelot," Merlin said. "We're near."

Lancelot's brow pinched together. "_Call_ him?"

Merlin averted his eyes and spoke to the ground. "I'm sorry about this, Lancelot."

"About what?" Lancelot asked, completely confused.

"Forgive me," Merlin muttered.

~…~

Lancelot was overwhelmed by Merlin's apologies; he didn't know what to make of them nor did he know what to make of the pain written on Merlin's face. He remembered Merlin's words in the physician's chambers.

_Do you trust me?_ Merlin had asked him. Lancelot did. He trusted Merlin just as much as he trusted Arthur, maybe even more so, despite the fact that he had led them out in the dark, with a dangerous creature roaming. He didn't understand why Merlin was expecting him to lose that trust. He knew the warlock wouldn't undertake such a risky trip if it weren't important.

"Merlin—"

He was cut off when a roar ripped from Merlin's throat, followed by incomprehensible words in a rasping, ferocious voice the likes of which Lancelot had never heard before spill from his friend's mouth. Lancelot thought he was chanting a spell, but the glow of gold didn't light Merlin's eye.

Merlin gave Lancelot another apologetic and pained look and started to trot again. Lancelot followed, questions rolling off his tongue, but all he could get from Merlin was, "Please don't think differently of me when you see, Lancelot. I wasn't strong enough to tell you. I didn't want you to—to…"

His voice cracked when he spoke, and Lancelot could see him struggling with his words. The poor lad really thought he might hate him. His dead voice and behavior suggested that he was preparing himself to lose a friend.

That's when he realized that this was another secret Merlin was not familiar with sharing. That would explain his shiftiness and his firm, sad eyes. How many more secrets did the man have? He mused for awhile. _Too many to count_, Lancelot finally decided.

He felt a stab of sympathy towards Merlin. When would he be free? He didn't know how much longer Merlin could take of this. His strength, his resolute purpose was holding firm, and Lancelot admired that Merlin's dedication to Arthur was priority and was set so high above his own wants and desires. Arthur may be linked to Merlin's dreams, but the warlock himself was still trapped and was dying to be released from the cage. A warm glow filled Lancelot. He believed in Merlin. Everything he did, everything he was, and everything he worked for—Lancelot supported him. He wanted to see the day when his friend and his magic was free, and the day when Merlin could spread his wings and break free of the bars of his cage was going to be glorious.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Merlin." He expected the servant to turn back to look at him, but Merlin still avoided his eyes. "This can hardly be more shocking than learning you have magic," Lancelot teased.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Merlin winced in front of him, his shoulders tensing, and he continued to trudge ahead. When he suddenly disappeared through a narrow opening between thick bushes, Lancelot had some trouble following the gangly servant, but after he finally extracted himself from the foliage, he found himself in a huge, open clearing. The grass was in a poor state, and the shadowy trees had an eerie presence. It was the view of the castle, rearing up just over the line of trees, which made the place magnificent.

Lancelot spun in a slow circle taking it all in but then realized that there was no one in the clearing. When he looked to Merlin with a question in mind, he found the servant gazing at the cloud-filled sky, his blue eyes glued to a specific point.

Lancelot followed his gaze. His blood froze, and his mouth dropped open. A dragon was flying straight towards them, nearly upon them. Lancelot's instinct was to draw his sword and attack, to run and hide, but the thought of Merlin, standing calm and expectantly, rooted him to the ground and knocked sense back into him.

_This_ was what Merlin had called for! That meant that Merlin had a power over the dragon...

He was a Dragon-Lord.

He didn't know much about Dragon-Lords. Uther had banned the teaching of not only sorcery but also the teaching of its peoples. He only knew that they were as persecuted as sorcerers, and Uther had driven them, along with dragons, to near extinction. He also heard that Arthur and Merlin had gone on a quest to find the last Dragon-Lord, a man named Balinor, when the Great Dragon had been released. The man had been killed on the way back to Camelot. Apparently, Balinor wasn't needed because in the end because Arthur had struck it a mortal blow.

He watched the dragon circle above and begin to dive. This was the same dragon, he knew. Everything about the story tilted in his mind, and everything he had taken as fact crumbled to dust. How much was Merlin really apart of it? Who was he to the man Balinor? And how in the world was a dragon—the last, Great Dragon—_alive_? He suspected that Merlin would have a lot of explaining to do when Arthur found out. _If_ he found out, and _if_ he was willing to listen. Lancelot felt he understood Merlin even more.

Then he remembered—during the Bellum Sanguinis—that _sword_….

The dragon suddenly landed with a resounding _thud_. Lancelot couldn't deny his fear. It was _big_, with glistening sharp teeth that were perhaps as long as the length of his forearm. Its eyes, however, unnerved him more than its fangs. They were an unfathomable, dark gold and full of wisdom and power, but somehow, he found himself trusting those eyes because they also held a hint of amusement and compassion. Indeed, they reminded him of Merlin's in some way he couldn't identify.

Merlin didn't look once at Lancelot—he didn't blame him—and walked confidently up to the beast. After a moment's hesitation, he followed cautiously.

"Kilgharrah," Merlin said in greeting, stopping before the dragon. Lancelot guessed that that was the beast's name. He didn't know that dragons had names.

"My young warlock." The dragon bowed his head.

Lancelot couldn't contain a gasp of surprise at the rich voice of the dragon. The dragon's dark golden eyes swung to him, and its lips curled in a smile. "And if it isn't the young Knight Lancelot."

"You—you know me?" Lancelot managed, still surprised it could speak. He saw Merlin look at him and saw a small smile of relief touch his elfish features.

The dragon grumbled low in its chest. "I'm no animal, Lancelot. I know many things. I have been expecting to meet you for some time."

Merlin snorted, and Lancelot, whose head was spinning, didn't understand why.

"I see that Dark things are happening, Merlin," the dragon said softly. "I see it in your eyes."

"It was as you warned," Merlin said dismally. "We learnt from a book on the origins of magic hidden in the Vaults about the creature. A Gvarath is still alive."

The dragon suddenly hissed and tossed his head, eyes narrowing with anger. "_The Gvarath!_" it roared. "The dragons and Gvarath are blood-sworn enemies. When I was just a nestling, in the time before the great Prophecies, I heard tales of Gvarath. My mother was an Elder Dragon. She told us all that they were dead and gone."

"One of those snakes survived, it appears. We faced it, and it has stolen _auras _of some of the Knights… and—um—it has plans for Arthur…and me."

The dragon's tail twitched. "I know little more than you do about the Gvarath, young warlock."

"You must know something!" Merlin begged. "Please? Try to answer my questions?"

"Very well," the dragon sighed.

"Why do they live? Why do they even exist?" Merlin asked, his voice breaking.

"That is an answer I cannot give. There are evils in this world—you know as much. Those who dabble in such darkness and evil _change_. They evolve. The Gvarath people went in over their heads—the evil powers they were playing with overtook them."

"Why do they steal _auras?_ Is it the snake that drives them? What is the purpose in that?"

"I cannot begin to understand a thing so evil, young warlock. It is sinful to steal another's identity. The magic they chose to teach and learn is the polar opposite to the magic of the Old Religion—the magic of life, the magic that resides in you and I. That is why you fear the Gvarath more than your friends and that is why it feels some fear at you. Now, tell me. Why do you ask these questions?"

Lancelot was wondering much of the same thing, and Merlin surprised him. "I figure that in order to destroy your enemies you must understand them."

The dragon's eyes widened. "You are becoming wise, young one."

"Oh, not you too! First Arthur and now you! I'm not sure how much more this can go on without me wondering what the catch is."

The dragon chuckled and winked at Lancelot. "I believe your young friend thinks you strange, Merlin."

"Not always, but at the moment, yes," Lancelot said. He felt proud that his voice didn't portray his lack of confidence. Merlin rolled his eyes at the dragon and sent a small comforting smile towards Lancelot.

"I was hoping that the snake could be withdrawn from the man," Merlin explained.

"They are bonded—quite like you and I are. Our bonds have much in common. We both command and serve each other, as do the Gvarath and the Shthorok snake. The man that the snake bonded to was a blood descendent of the Gvarath tribe. You gained your Dragon-Lord abilities through your blood-line as well. However, there is a difference. Our connection is purely spiritual—we are soul-kin." Lancelot saw Merlin's eyes glaze over with tears, the words obviously striking a chord in him. "Theirs is physical. You cannot destroy one without killing the other."

"How do you kill it then?" Merlin asked, his voice pleading for some good news.

"I have known none to have killed one. While they killed us, we alone could not kill them—they killed themselves."

"What?" Merlin whispered brokenly. Lancelot's heart broke. Was there no hope?

Kilgharrah was silent. The seconds ticked by as he and Merlin looked into each other's eyes. Merlin's eyes flashed gold, and Lancelot guessed that some supernatural, special Dragon-Lord-dragon connection was happening. He remained quiet.

Suddenly, the dragon closed his eyes and began to hum musically. Judging from the look on Merlin's face, Merlin was just as taken aback as Lancelot.

The dragon's eyes flew open, and he said, "I have known every part of the destiny you and the young Pendragon share. I never suspected that this would be a part of it."

"What are you talking about?" Merlin asked in distress, not understanding.

"Back when I was a nestling, my mother would sing me and my nest-mates a song. It was an ancient song, a lullaby—she told us that it was a song of friendship that would last eons and was passed down from generation to generation. It was one of many she taught of character. Now I see that its true meaning was lost long, long ago. This very well might have been the first prophecy."

"How does this relate to our problem?"

"It may hold the answer…. There are clues that fit with your destiny. It also speaks of Darkness, and it has your name in it—or the meaning of your name, anyway."

"Merlin?" Lancelot asked. "A merlin is a type of hawk, isn't it?"

The dragon nodded patiently at him. "Everyone is given a name. A rare few are born with a name," he said to Lancelot. Turning back to Merlin he asked, "Shall I sing it?"

Merlin nodded. The dragon began singing in a growling, gurgling, harsh language that was eerily beautiful. He did not understand the words, but Merlin obviously did. As the music rushed over the clearing, it seemed that everything paused to listen. Nothing stirred, and the wind even withheld its chill breath.

When the dragon was done, he closed his mouth and waited expectantly. The night came alive again.

"Merlin?" Lancelot asked. "What did he say?"

Merlin's eyes were unreadable as he turned to Lancelot and chanted—the dragon humming along—

"_Immortal Gold, Blue pure of heart_

_Together, may Darkness depart_

_Veins of magic, Sword of legend_

_And Breath of life, destined_

_A soul, a mentality, a name_

_Separate paths merge for a single aim_

_Golden blue, Blued gold_

_A bond eternal foretold._

There is no mention of Emrys in here," Merlin commented when finished with the chant.

The dragon's eyes danced. "Did you not know that Emrys meant 'immortal'?"

Merlin staggered back and put a hand on his forehead. "No, I think you forgot to mention that," he whispered.

Lancelot could tell Merlin was fitting the pieces together. He, on the other hand, still didn't have much of a clue of what was going on or what the dragon's song meant. It was just another riddle, and Lancelot decided that he would be far more frightened of the dragon had it not been for the waves of massive confusion constantly crashing upon him like the waves of the sea on the shore. For that, he was grateful.

"Is Emrys…?" he began to ask.

"It is his name in the Prophecies," Kilgharrah said. Lancelot now stood back, the spinning in his brain becoming a steady head-ache. He didn't know how Merlin dealt with its riddles and talk, but he grimly supposed that the young man had had a lot of practice.

"Kilgharrah, I don't fully understand the 'soul, mentality, name' part... and the 'gold'-'blue' lines…"

"I'm guessing that they are the _aura _colors of the young Pendragon and you, young one," the dragon said softly.

Merlin obviously wanted to question him, but he decided to continue on with his previous line of thought "…but it's safe to assume that my magic and the—_the_ sword have to work together to defeat this Darkness?"

"I believe so. Only you know where it lays, Merlin, and the time is ripe. Arthur is ready to claim it."

"But—but I'm not!" Merlin exclaimed worriedly. "I'm not ready for this. I can't let him know about me. Not yet. Not with all this madness happening."

"You and Arthur must work together to bring down the threat. He must accept your help and your magic."

Merlin was shaking his head. "I can't—"

"Merlin," the dragon said softly. "Do you have so little faith in destiny?"

"Sometimes."

The dragon shook his head. "It was a hidden formula to defeating the Gvarath. Do you think there is another way? You cannot let this creature continue to threaten your existence, no matter your fear of Arthur or your fear for it."

Merlin hung his head, defeated. "No. You are right, Kilgharrah. I will do what must be done."

"There is another thing," Lancelot suddenly said without thinking.

The two magical beings swung their eyes to him, and he grew nervous under the blue- and gold-eyed scrutiny. "The 'Breath of life' is the third key."

"'Breath of life'," Merlin repeated. "'Breath of life'…" His eyes widened with excitement as the last puzzle piece fit together. "_Fire! Fire is life_. Where would humanity be without fire? I think the 'breath' is the important word…it must be your fire, Kilgharrah! You are the only creature—that I know of anyway—that can breathe fire."

"_What_?" Lancelot asked.

"I knew that there was something about fire! I felt it. I wondered why the thing fled. Arthur and I were standing together, fighting together, with you, Lancelot. And I had the torch. When I pushed at its magic with mine, that's when it fled. Separately we are nothing. '_Together, _may Darkness depart'," Merlin recited excitedly. Lancelot felt the hope and excitement rolling from him. "Only together we have a chance!"

"Well thought out, young warlock. And I must thank you, dear Knight. It appears you have a clear head on your shoulders as well. You have served your purpose well today, and I know you will be essential in the future to come."

Lancelot felt himself smiling weakly, struck again by the dragon's knowledge of him.

"Thank you, Kilgharrah, thank you," Merlin said, fervently. "I will call for you when the time is right. Stay near and stay sharp."

"What are you going to do, young warlock?"

"I have a bit of a plan," Merlin said unhelpfully.

"Very well," the dragon said, knowing Merlin wasn't going to give him details. "I will come gladly. The Gvarath have killed plenty of my kind, and I cannot allow it to take any more people."

"A few years ago, Kilgharrah, I would have never believed you." Merlin muttered, teasingly, still in high spirits.

"Not even Uther deserves that empty half-life," the dragon said. "Not one person in this world deserves to be touched by that Darkness. Besides, I am free, and the future I have longed for is nearly upon us, and I am bonded with the very person who made these things happen. How can I be bitter towards Camelot now?"

With that, the dragon winked one of its twinkling dark eyes and launched itself into the sky, twisting and flying with incredible agility despite its bulk. It flew quickly and before no time, the dragon was a little speck amongst the clouds.

Merlin embraced Lancelot suddenly. "That went well," he said, his eyes dancing. "We found our answer, Lancelot!"

"I—the dragon…" Lancelot began.

Merlin lost the light in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Lancelot. Really. I know should have warned you—"

"Merlin," Lancelot interrupted, grinning. "Sometimes Arthur is right when he tells you that you need to shut up."

Merlin's elfish features lit up again. "You're not afraid?"

Lancelot knew that Merlin was talking about himself, and he refused to answer that question. Instead he said, "Well, it was big…and it was a dragon. But it was obvious that he wasn't going to hurt me, and after awhile, my fear for the dragon's size and teeth was overcome by awe and then a sudden migraine at his speech."

Merlin barked a laugh. "He's been like that since I first met him. It was frustrating."

"You must tell me what you were expecting from me, Merlin."

"I—I didn't know what to expect. When it comes to my secrets and my magic, I always expect the worst," he admitted quietly. "That way you won't be disappointed."

Lancelot could understand that. He remembered the look of absolute terror on the boy's face when he told him that he had seen and heard the magic he used to kill the griffin. And that was years ago. He couldn't imagine living with the fear of death and discovery like that for so long.

"I told you that you didn't have to be afraid," Lancelot reminded him.

"You can never know when walking into the unknown and forcing someone to follow blindly," Merlin said sagely.

Lancelot couldn't respond to that; he was right. "Would you mind if I talked to you about it?" Lancelot asked.

"I guess that's only to be expected," Merlin said brightly.

~…~

It had found their scent ages ago, but when it saw the dragon circling the sky, it hissed its annoyance. It felt the snake in it stir, an ancient hatred arising in what was left of its disfigured heart. It knew caution, however, and decided it could wait.

It found a tree on the path and slithered up it, perching comfortably on a branch. It watched the flicker of the torch that the golden brat held for what seemed like ages, but it was patient.

It would get what it wanted, and it still wanted the orange one. It wanted the golden one as well; it wanted to taste that gold more than anything, but it had made up its mind. It did not want that gold without first taking the blue of the Prince. It wanted to make that runt feel pain before it claimed him. And where was the fun, if it took the gold now? No, the game was just beginning to get interesting.

So it waited.

~…~

Merlin was in the lead again as they walked back to the castle. His spirits were higher than they had been in days. He and Arthur would see to it that their friends' _auras_ were restored and that none would be taken again. He had a plan, and hopefully, with a little luck, he was going to keep his secret safe at the same time. The only problem was that he hadn't an idea about how to draw the Gvarath to meet on his terms.

He cast that thought aside for the moment and chattered to Lancelot about Kilgharrah, and he even told him the full story of his father. He had never before done it, and he wasn't surprised when he felt his throat become thick with tears.

He was thrilled about Lancelot's acceptance. It made him believe that each and every one of his fears about revealing the truth was unwarranted. _Maybe Arthur_…no, he wasn't ready and neither was Arthur. Not yet. Not with Uther still around.

When he finished summarizing, (there was no need for Lancelot to know every little detail: that would come in time) he admitted that Percival found out about his magic.

"You're kidding?" Lancelot asked, grinning. Merlin had the feeling that Lancelot was satisfied.

"You knew about his past history," Merlin guessed out loud. Lancelot's grin widened, and he knew he was right. "Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded.

"You both needed to find out yourselves. And I'm not one to break my promises. Tell me, how did he find out?"

"I left my spell-book out," Merlin muttered sheepishly.

"Honestly, Merlin!" Lancelot laughed quietly. "You can be so—"

Merlin froze, causing Lancelot to bump into him. "Erm, Merlin?" Lancelot asked.

Merlin didn't respond; he felt something off in the night, something… The _Gvarath._ Suddenly, he felt a ripple of Dark magic, and his eyes found the dark form sitting concealed in the trees. Its greedy eyes were fixed on Lancelot, and it was tensed to pounce.

"Lancelot!" Merlin shouted just as the Gvarath leapt from the tree. The wiry servant tackled Lancelot, and his quick action probably saved the Knight's life.

Lancelot cried out as he Gvarath's claws raked his calf. Merlin heard it hiss in anger, and he rolled out of the way as it swiped at him. He dragged Lancelot up, only to push him back to the ground as the thing leapt for them both again. Merlin threw up a shield of magic around them.

The Gvarath's eyes glowed, and it spit venom at Merlin. It suddenly rushed at Merlin, using its Dark magic like a battering ram. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. His head felt like it was being split open, but he held the magic and watched the Gvarath carefully as it gathered itself up for another magical attack.

Merlin didn't know if he could hold off another attack like that again, and he didn't see a way out of this. Lancelot was injured, and there was nothing he could do about getting them out of here safely. He growled and cursed at himself.

What was the point? He found the answers and was going to fail anyway? _No._ He refused to accept failure.

Before the Gvarath could attack him, he went on the offensive. He waved his torch, muttering a spell, and sent flaming bolts at the thing.

It somersaulted away, and it crouched on all fours and charged with a gurgling giggle. A nearby bush took the brunt of the attack and began to burn.

Merlin threw out a wave of his magic; it forced the thing to a stop, and it struggled and combated against it. The warlock felt the strength of the Dark magic shoving at him, and he nearly gave away. With a groan, he pushed back.

Suddenly, Lancelot dashed out from behind him, wobbling unsteadily on his wounded leg. He yelled, swinging his sword.

"Lancelot, no!" Merlin shouted. His concentration slipped, and the thing crushed Merlin's magical shield.

The thing lost interest in him immediately when it saw Lancelot. The Knight reached it right when Merlin called out, and he swung at its neck. The thing dodged with a smirk, and Merlin saw its long-nailed hands slash at Lancelot with a fury.

Merlin ran up behind it and shouted, "Forebearne!"

It didn't work. The thing merely shrieked at the touch of his unexpected magic and the flames of the torch so near, and it lashed out, striking Merlin with the back of its hand.

The strength of the blow made Merlin's eyes blur, and it knocked him to the ground. The torch fell from his hand. By the time he was lucid enough to stand up to return to the fight, the Gvarath had Lancelot by the throat, and it reached its Dark tendrils into him…

He yelled out and struggled to his feet. Too late. Merlin saw Lancelot's dark eyes lose their life, and after the Gvarath snickered with pleasure, it turned to Merlin, dropping Lancelot's limp body carelessly.

"You play well, runt," it said in its horrible voice. "But you are too weak to sssave your friendsss." It kicked Lancelot in the stomach. The Knight didn't even grunt.

Merlin's eyes filled with tears. "Why do you do this?" he whispered.

The thing raised its studded brows, and it smirked, not answering. "No begging for mercccy? My, my, you _are_ a brave one."

It stalked closer to Merlin, and Merlin tensed, his magic rising to defend him.

"I will not take you yet, brat."

"Is it my magic, Gvarath? Is it because you _can't _take it?" Merlin goaded, his fear feeding his reckless words.

The thing cocked its head. "I want yoursss more than I've wanted anyone'sss, but I ssstill want to tassste the Princcce, runt."

"Why don't you take me now? I'm at your mercy," Merlin growled.

"Why?" I repeated. "You will sssuffer to sssee the blue taken. I sssshall enjoy that. And…" it lunged out and pinched Merlin's cheeks, "…you ssssimply are much too fun, aren't you? (1)" it said with a perverted glee.

Its tail wrapped around Merlin's ankle, and with a tug, it sent him sprawling to the ground. One of its sharp nails grazed Merlin's collarbone on his way down. The gray tongue flickered at the sight of his blood. "I'll sseee you ssssoon, runt," it promised with a chilling laugh.

When Merlin looked up, the thing was gone, and with guilt rolling in his gut, he crawled over to Lancelot. Little fires that had started from the torch and his magic burned on and reflected in the tears sliding down his cheeks.

* * *

><p>AN: (1) The Gvarath's line "simply much too fun" was inspired by the Joker in the movie "The Dark Knight." :P<p>

Yes, I know. It's a little over the top to steal another Knight's aura. ;) Hope the fight was ok. It seems a little meh to me, but I tried my best.

Advance warning: I most likely not have another chapter up tomorrow. :D Have a wonderful weekend everyone.


	9. Of a Book and a Plan

Disclaimer: IDOM

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading. A special thank you to 'a fan' for helping me out with my little mistakes (I have fixed those things, by the way, I will probably edit commas and such when the whole story is completed). This is another chapter I'm not sure about. It feels right, but really... *shrugs* I hope it works out well. ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Of a Book and a Plan<strong>

When Arthur went to rest after leaving the infirmary, he didn't realize how tired he was until after he entered his chambers, took off his sword belt, and sat on the bed to take his boots off. His last thought was that he needed Merlin to…but he ended up nodding off within seconds of beginning the thought, fully clothed and with one boot still on.

No dreams troubled his sleep for two hours. Then, he began to sleep fitfully, scenes of the Gvarath and bloodshed playing in his head. He awoke, sweating and gasping, his heart racing.

He sat up, instinctively reaching for his sword, before he realized where he was, calmed, and rubbed his eyes. He knew he would get no more sleep that night, and slipping off the bed and padding to the window, he almost laughed when he realized only one boot had been successfully removed before he fell asleep. Merlin would have had quite a laugh about that.

After throwing open the window to let in some of the cool night air, the Prince leaned out on the sill and looked towards the dark forest with a grim frown on his handsome face. The thing was out there somewhere, sneaking around in the dark. He shuddered to think what it was doing now: he hoped his nightmares were not becoming reality, but he knew it was in vain. It was already too late to hope for that.

Even though the attack of the Gvarath was still fresh in his mind, the book had filled his mind with even more horrifying images. _The book_. He closed his eyes, forcing away his overwhelming curiosity. It shouldn't have been taken from the Vaults. It was a book of magic. Everything about it was banned and illegal and even having it out of the Vaults was nothing short of treason.

Because he had been taught that everything about it and its contents was evil, he shouldn't feel curiosity. He shouldn't _want_ to learn more. But he did. When had he become so interested in magic? Why was the damn thing calling to him in this way?

This hadn't been the first time. This wasn't the first time he had softened towards magic. He would have thought that Morgana's betrayal would have hardened his heart even more. There was no doubt that the betrayal continuously stabbed at him, but it was her betrayal, ironically enough, that had made him step back and think. The big question on his mind: _why had she done this?_

After thinking and pondering, he finally understood. She and all sorcerers like her only did what they did because they hated Uther Pendragon and his cruel treatment towards them and their magic. The King had always forced upon him the belief that _they_ were the ones to blame. Now, however, he wasn't so sure who to blame. He now fully realized and accepted that his father fueled the fire, but they were the ones acting on it. In a way, _both_ were at fault.

He felt a fool for never fully recognizing the reason behind the madness, and he wondered how he had never wondered or guessed as to that reason. He recalled the times that he was almost upon the revelation and realized that the actions of each sorcerer that attacked his home always turned him away and that it was Morgause who had cleared his mind of doubt for quite some time.

Lately, he felt a shattering of the world he had come to know. As he had been gravitating towards the throne as Regent and as he considered Morgana, he saw Camelot and his father's opinions in a different light. It was disorienting—the realization he didn't have to be his father... the realization that he _wasn't_ his father. Random adventures with Merlin had come back to him, and he began to review them and saw things he had previously missed. He remembered the Druids, who were a peaceful people, he remembered Anhora, the keeper of the unicorns, he remembered that Gaius had once practiced magic, and he remembered Balinor, the Dragon-Lord. Just a few hours ago in the Vaults holding that poisoned chalice, he was also reminded of the glowing ball of blue light in that dark cave. For all the evil magic, he knew that there must be some good.

There was something else too, but every time he tried to grasp it, he felt even more at loss than before. He felt as though he were missing an important key, as though he were missing something right under his nose. It drove him mad everytime he thought about it, so he tossed that thought away before it could make him go nuts again.

As much as he hated her, he pitied Morgana. Imagine living so near the King and having to hide and live in fear of execution! It wasn't hard to imagine why she had been so keen to side with someone who understood and supported her and her magic. He even felt pity for the others too—evil and peaceful alike.

He was jolted from his thoughts when a sudden flash of color leapt out of the forest. He blinked his eyes and squinted. He could've sworn…

He was just jumpy, he decided. The Gvarath had messed with his nerve. He turned from the window, now restless beyond belief. He needed to do something. He needed to act. He needed to see Gaius and Merlin, who had no doubt been illegally studying the book. But above all, he himself needed to see what was in that book.

He realized that he should change—he was still in his travel-stained, sleep-wrinkled clothes. In the end, he decided it didn't matter. He buckled the one boot and sword belt back on and headed first to the infirmary, where he had last seen the book, and then, if it and his physician and manservant weren't there, to Gaius's chambers.

~…~

Gwen was asleep when Arthur slipped into the infirmary. She was draped over the edge of Elyan's bed-side, her hand still touching his. One graceful curl had fallen from the mass she had pinned up on her head, and it drifted lazily as she slept. The Prince smiled at the brother and sister's rhythmic and simultaneous breathing.

Gaius was no where to be seen nor were the serving-girls who had been posted at the infirmary. Arthur suspected that Gwen had offered to sit-up for the physician and that the servants had not been sent for. Arthur's brow creased with worry; she shouldn't have stayed here when they were talking of the Gvarath. She shouldn't even be here now, but how could he make her leave her brother?

Determined not to wake her or any of the others, Arthur tiptoed in and immediately saw the book sitting on Gaius's long workbench at the back of the room. It was hard to miss—it let off a fuzzy glow, and what could be seen of its tarnished adornments flickered in the low burning candle-light. Merlin's neckerchief was still halfway covering the ancient, worn brown leather.

Arthur padded over to it, carefully relighting some of the candles on the way, and he picked off Merlin's neckerchief fabric from the cover and sat on the sturdy wooden chair to stare at it. After awhile of debating and conflicting emotion, he shrugged and decided: _what the hell_? _We've already broke the law by bringing the thing here. What's the harm in taking a peek?_

Even after he made his decision, he was still uncertain. He was a bit frightened to touch the book because of the radiance it threw. He moved his hand slowly towards it, and when his fingers touched the air of fuzzy glow, he flinched impulsively. Milliseconds later, he chuckled to himself. What did he honestly think it was going to do? Bite him?

On the contrary, the glow felt warm, kind, and, to his intense surprise, _familiar, _and as he finally rested his fingertips on the simply intricate and intricately simple run on the cover, a tingling sensation hit his fingertips and rapidly spread throughout his body. The rush of magic through him was exhilarating, thrilling. It traveled through him benignly and powerfully at the same time, searching him. The buzzing of the magic within him made him recall the times when he felt simply happy to be alive—those times when he was in awe of the sights around him, or in awe that he had gotten so lucky in love with Guinevere and in his friendship with (dare he even think it?) Merlin and the Knights. He should have been scared, but he wasn't. The magic felt..._good_. It was around that time that he heard the singing.

He couldn't recognize the language or the tune nor could he decide if it was sung in a masculine or feminine voice, but it was certainly beautiful—pure and trilling and sweet like the sound of flowing water or whispering leaves. He found himself smiling to the music of the book's magic. He began to hum with the music unthinkingly, but with a sudden shock of surprise at himself, he withdrew his hand, causing him to overturn a few phials of unknown substances.

Thankfully, they were all corked securely and did not break, but the clatter was unnaturally loud in such a quiet environment. Arthur gasped quietly and turned to see if he had woken the others up. Gwen stirred in her sleep, but otherwise, did not awaken. Elyan was dead to the world as were most of the men whose _auras_ had been stolen, but Percival and Leon's blank eyes were staring at the ceiling. If he had not seen their chests rising and falling with their breathing, Arthur would have thought them dead.

_They are not dead…not yet. _With a shiver, Arthur turned from them and propped the bottles back up.

Arthur now understood Merlin's seemingly unusual action of covering the book. He could see why Merlin would refuse to touch it again. _Again? _He asked himself suddenly. He didn't recall seeing the servant touch it at all. Merlin had just _stood_ there…staring. Arthur shrugged. He had noticed that the goofy, tousle-haired boy had a knack for random displays of uncanny knowledge for magic, so while it didn't necessarily surprise him that Merlin had known what would happen if he touched it, it did make him curious once again as to his servant's wacky and eccentric ways.

Arthur pulled the rough neckerchief completely from underneath the book and covered his hand with it, and only then, even though his movements were clumsy due to the cloth, did he open the book. Only a faint trace of the thrilling feeling laced up his arm, and the book hummed as he flipped through the pages.

He couldn't read the language, but he did know it was the language of magic. Most of it was beautiful calligraphy, and the rest little pictures of ivy vines and multicolored flowers entwining along the edges of the pages and the words. Though he did not understand, he felt the power of the words and the simple artwork by just looking. He felt a part of their meaning imprinted in the structure and the form, and though he wished he could read the words fully, he was intrigued and satisfied enough by the simple act of flipping through the pages and contemplating the inked words and artwork.

It was his logical guess that it told of the very origin of the Old Religion and its opposite counterpart. It probably held all the secrets to its beginning and its reason for existing in the world. It probably told of all the technicalities and consequences of magic. It probably held the names of forgotten, sacred places and spells that no sorcerer could even dream of accomplishing. There might have even been a way to destroy aspects of the Old Religion. There were probably even more things in this book that he could not even begin to _hope_ to understand. Gaius was not kidding. He was holding the very meaning of magic, the very essence, in his hands.

This unknown language took up over half of the thick volume. Finally, he saw that the language switched quite abruptly into his own. The pages were slightly newer—obviously an addition to the original—and while the writing was hardly as impressive or as… _powerful_ as the previous section, the full-page illustrations were breathtaking, some beautifully so and the others frighteningly so. He wished he had the time to read about the Elder Dragons, the Sidhe fairies, and the overwhelming number of magical creatures and people that he had never heard of and that he suspected no longer existed, but he had an indescribable urge to carry on.

He skipped over the pages with the Gvarath hurriedly and noticed that as he moved on, the pages became cleaner and fresher…_more recent._

Near the very end, the languages started switching again. It seemed there was a new language every page. Some of it he recognized as the ancient language of magic, some, Latin and Greek, and some, his own. Many more were unknown to him. Each page held between several lines to several stanzas of text, but all were centered neatly down the page. He supposed that they were spells, but when he read a few in his language he realized that not all of them were spells. They were fortunes… _prophesies._

Arthur had been to thousands of carnivals with supposed fortune-tellers and mind-readers. Uther had always told him that they were frauds and that they were just scamming people for money. Nevertheless, they usually ended up getting chucked out of the city by his father anyway. However, if they kept their heads down and gave smaller, less dramatic fortunes, they could get by and make good money. Arthur knew these were not trifling love fortunes and weather-forecasts. These were the real deal.

Those that he read he didn't understand. He wasn't too fond of riddles. They spoke of things like broken stones and crooked trees in the night. He had no doubt of the omens' importance; he just didn't understand the entire picture, and he decided not to try to.

Then he reached the very last page. It was written in his tongue, and he knew it was the very thing that drew him to the book. He only had the time to see the words 'sword,' 'Once and Future King,' 'magic,' and 'Emrys' before the door burst open with a loud slam like thunder.

~…~

Gwen awoke to a familiar crashing followed by another crash. She gasped and sat bolt upright, and after noticing Arthur guiltily picking up the chair he had just knocked down and hastily close a book from the corner of her eye, she frowned thoughtfully. When did he get here? And why was he looking into that book?

"Merlin!" Arthur cried. Gwen redirected her focus to the door—the first crash, she realized.

Merlin was standing in the doorway, Lancelot's arm was draped over his shoulder. Merlin looked terribly sick and frightened, but it was Lancelot who was in worse shape. His clothes were torn, and she saw that the torn parts were wrapped around his left leg, caked with his blood. Her blood ran cold: she saw it in both of their eyes—Merlin's teary blue and Lancelot's blank brown. Lancelot had been taken by the creature.

Her breath caught in her throat as Arthur took Lancelot's weight from Merlin and told him to get Gaius.

The boy was only too happy to comply, and he staggered away.

Gwen got to her feet and helped Arthur settle Lancelot in a bed next to the other men the Gvarath had touched.

"How in the world did this happen?" Arthur growled, his knuckles turning white.

Gwen bit back tears. She had no answer. This threat was looking ever more impossible to overcome.

"What the _hell_ were they doing out of the castle?" Arthur's voice became perplexed and angry.

"Merlin," Gwen breathed, turning away from Lancelot's bedside.

"I'm going to _kill_ that—" Arthur began. Gwen cut him off with a look, and he saw Merlin enter with his head hanging, his eyes dejected and refusing the meet the Prince's. Gaius followed in behind and immediately began to work on Lancelot.

_He blames himself_, Gwen thought, her eyes tracing the tear streaks on his grimy face. He was staring at the tips of his boots, his long fingers twitching at his side and his face tense with pain.

Her heart stirred. She knew he was probably out doing something that he wasn't supposed to, but then again, when wasn't he? Also, she knew Merlin. She knew from the faint hint of determination in his eyes that he had gone out for a reason.

Gwen was going to give Arthur a look that implored him not to be rash and to listen to Merlin with sensitivity, but Merlin spoke before she could.

"I couldn't save him," he muttered to his boots. "I couldn't—he attacked, though he was injured… he knew the thing wanted him. He knew!" his voice broke. "It's all my fault. He shouldn't have come."

That is why he couldn't bring himself to look in their eyes, Gwen realized… he felt guilty for being the one that didn't get taken.

"Merlin, what happened?" Arthur asked. Gwen hid her satisfaction at his calm, caring tone. He too had seen the depth of Merlin's distress.

Merlin's raven-haired head shot up, his brilliant eyes even more radiant with tears. His mouth gaped open, and Gwen saw him struggle to start to speak.

"What the _hell _were you thinking? Why were you and Lancelot out there with that creature around, Merlin?" Arthur said, his impatience slipping into his voice.

Merlin's face grew pale, and he stuttered, "I—I—"

Gwen stepped forward, her piercing eyes dangerously protective. "They both went to the we—"

"Gwen!" Merlin exclaimed. He looked dumbstruck, his eyes wide with appreciation and surprise for her attempt to make an excuse for him. Gwen shook her head almost imperceptibly to silence him, but she saw it was too late. His eyes grew hard with stubbornness.

"Lancelot and I went to see if we could find any more information," Merlin said assertively. That made sense. Merlin _had _said that he was going to find a way. "In the library," he tacked on. Gwen's brow furrowed. That was a lie. It was a well-crafted lie, but it was a lie.

"Why the _hell_ are we in this situation then?"

Merlin shuffled his feet. "Crossing the courtyard is the fastest way to the library from Gaius's chambers," he muttered. His voice broke. "I wasn't thinking. Lancelot was trying to stop me…He was telling me that those books wouldn't help us. I wouldn't listen. In the end, he offered to come with me to put my mind at rest…" Merlin winced, waiting for a severe reaction.

Arthur swore under his breath. "So the thing was _in _the city!" he hissed.

Merlin ran his hands through his hair; Gwen knew that was a sign of his nervousness. Arthur did not notice, and he began pacing with a concerned look on his face.

"Did it take anyone else, Merlin?" the Prince asked grimly.

"No."

Arthur blinked. "But—but I don't understand. Why didn't it take you?"

Gwen frowned at the less than tactful wording of the question. It sounded as though he didn't care that Merlin _was_ still with them.

Either Merlin didn't notice or he didn't mind, and he shrugged half-heartedly, his eyes back on the floor. "It—it's playing a game, Arthur. It—it thinks this is _fun_."

Arthur winced, and the servant continued, "It isn't going to stop. It wants you badly, Arthur, but its twisted sense of fun makes it want me to be there when it takes you. It probably wants a lot of people to see."

She guessed by the way he structured his thoughts, he wasn't giving the full story. _As if that matters, Guinevere_, she told herself. They were all still in danger. Gwen bit her lip, a horrible feeling overcoming her. What were they going to do?

"I take it you got no information, then?" Arthur said in a dead tone.

Merlin hesitated; it was the briefest of hesitations, but Gwen saw something stir in his eyes. "No, Sire," he said. "Lancelot's leg…"

That turned Arthur's attention away from Merlin and to Lancelot. "Gaius?" Arthur asked.

"His leg will be fine, Sire," the old physician said wearily, standing from his work. Gwen caught him staring at his ward questioningly, but Merlin avoided his gaze. He knew something was off in Merlin's story just as much as she did, but seeing that he wasn't going to get anything from Merlin, the physician turned to her. His wrinkled face smiled at her, thanking her for her attempt to protect his ward as she had.

She blushed. "Go get some sleep, Gaius. You've had an extremely long day, and it is nearly four hours past sundown. I will stay awake this time," she said kindly.

The physician smiled and said, "I'm sending for Laya and Jezzi anyway, Gwen dear. I don't want to leave you alone here anymore." His eyes flickered to the half-men. Inside, Gwen was thankful. The dead eyes of her friends…

"I'll go for you, Gaius," Arthur offered. Gwen flinched at his voice. It was dead.

"Thank you, Arthur." Gaius turned to leave. "Merlin?"

Merlin had been staring at the Knights, and he did not remove his eyes to answer them. "I will be along shortly, Gaius."

Gaius accepted that and left. Arthur was about to follow, but Gwen stopped him. "Arthur. Please, after you fetch Jezzi and Laya, will you sleep? For me?" Arthur's eyes did not twinkle merrily as they might have earlier, and he did not respond with a laugh and a fond, small scoffing retort. He looked as though he had already been taken by the Gvarath.

After he gave her a curt nod, she threw her arms around him and whispered, "Love you."

Arthur relented to a smile and kissed the top of her head. "As do I you, Guinevere."

His smile faded immediately, and he did not look back once. Gwen stood staring after him in silence.

"He has lost hope," Merlin said.

She turned in surprise, having forgotten he was there. He was looking at her with his sad eyes.

"I do not blame him," Gwen muttered, sitting by Elyan again. Merlin sat across from her.

She tried to avoid his sharp-eyes scrutiny of her. "If there is one thing you have proven to me, Guinevere—" Gwen was shocked at his use of her full name—he so rarely used it—and his tone drew her eyes back up to his unique eyes "—it is that there is always hope."

She didn't respond, a little taken aback at the ferocity in his eyes and tone. She absentmindedly played with a corner of her brother's bed covers, realizing that he was right. Without hope, there was nothing. Without hope, they could never recover their friends' _auras _nor could they defeat evil. Hope was all that they had now. To give it up, was to give up on those lost to the Dark magic. _Of course, Merlin would be the one to remind me_, Gwen thought fondly.

"Tell me why you did it, Gwen," Merlin murmured.

"Did what, Merlin?"

"You were about to lie to Arthur. You were about to make an excuse for me. You shouldn't lie to Arthur on my behalf, Gwen," Merlin said seriously. She hid her concern. She heard it as a plea, but there was also something there that made her think it was a warning.

"Why did I do it? I trust you, Merlin. I knew you wouldn't have gone out if it wasn't for something important."

Merlin flinched suddenly, avoiding her eyes this time. "I don't deserve that," he whispered. "Lancelot said the same thing. He trusted me. I failed him."

"Merlin, listen to me," Gwen said forcefully. "You cannot blame yourself. Lancelot wouldn't blame you, and neither do I."

Merlin still looked doubtful, but he made a valiant attempt to put his guilt behind him. "Even if I am not to blame," Merlin began slowly and cautiously, "I have lied, Gwen. Too many times. I don't deserve that trust."

Gwen watched him carefully, not sure what to make of his denial of her trust. "You did find something, didn't you?"

Merlin's eyes flashed to her. She saw a conflict in his face, and with a deep breath, he finally said, "Yes." He let out a sigh. "But it's…complicated. I cannot tell you what, how, or why. I'm sorry. I cannot involve you. Not yet."

His eyes begged for understanding. She did not fully understand; she never did when it came to Merlin. But she _was_ relieved.

"I knew you would find a way, Merlin," she whispered. "You've returned hope to me. No matter the complications, I know when Arthur is ready to hear it, your plans and your ideas, everything will work out. The Gvarath will be destroyed."

Merlin stared at her in shock for a few seconds, and then he grinned broadly, a bit of his old self returning. "Thank you, Gwen," he said, standing up. "I cannot begin to thank you enough."

He swooped down and gave her a hug. Gwen patted his back awkwardly, not sure what it was she said that made him so happy, but glad for it nevertheless. He was still beaming as he walked away, and a sudden thought came to Gwen.

"Merlin!" Gwen called.

He turned. "Arthur…he was looking in the book when you came in," Gwen blurted suddenly. Having not known why exactly she had wanted to share this information so badly with her friend, she blinked in mild shock and bit her lip.

Merlin's gaze went to the book. "_Really?_" he gasped. She just nodded.

Gwen watched Merlin move over to the book and contemplate it. He looked uncertain, but then after some time, he took his neckerchief and flipped to the very end of the book.

If Gwen thought it strange that he would start looking through the book at the _end,_ she thought it was even more strange when he recoiled as though the book were a spitting python, a look of confusion and panic clearly etched on his face.

Concerned, Gwen was going to ask him what the matter was, but she was interrupted when the two maids entered the infirmary. Merlin carefully reconstructed his face, waved with false cheerfulness at her, nodded at the two maids in greeting, and slipped out the door.

She almost thought of following him, but it was that precise moment that she felt Elyan's fingers twitch.

_Elyan was awake_.

~…~

He wanted desperately to go back and read that book. He wanted to read the Prophecy in full, but he knew, deep down, that that would do more harm than good. He brushed that all aside. He had work to do.

Merlin decided to morph his grief at his failure into something positive: determination. He wasn't going to give in now, and he kept his guilt to a minimum while he talked. The old physician did not once interrupt Merlin, and when he was done telling his mentor all, the physician sat back, stunned.

Merlin paced, each part of Kilgharrah's song replaying in his ears and each part of his idea slowly becoming more defined.

"What are you going to do, Merlin?"

Merlin sighed. "What I must. I'm going to fulfill my part, Gaius. I want my friends back. I need to help Arthur retrieve the sword I left in the stone, and he needs my magic."

"Are you finally—?"

Merlin jumped. "I never said that I was revealing myself to him."

"Merlin, I'm beginning to think that there is no other way. I think the time is almost upon you."

Merlin was shocked. In all his years of hiding, it had been Gaius that had held him back when he wanted the secrets to disappear. Now, it was Gaius pushing him forward when he wanted to keep them secret. He had to admit, however, that he felt the time was near as well.

"I'm—I'm not ready, Gaius," Merlin admitted. "Besides, I cannot take the risk. If I told Arthur I have magic now, we will have to waste precious time while I try to explain… and while I possibly try to convince him that my magic isn't evil and try to prevent him from raging at me. We don't have that time. I'm _not_ going to let anyone else fall to that thing."

Gaius stared at him a moment, and finally, he bowed his head in agreement. "So what then? Your magic is essential to the creature's downfall. You need to be there, and you cannot go without either exposing your magic or fighting severely hindered because Arthur _doesn't _know about your magic."

Merlin grinned deviously. "D'you remember how to make the age-spell-breaking potion?"

Gaius's eyes widened. "Merlin, you can't be—"

"Of course I'm serious! Arthur may have tried to execute Dragoon the last—"

"You named your disguise _Dragoon_?" Gaius asked in disbelief.

Merlin groaned impatiently. "You try to think of a name on the spot, Gaius." He saw the physician about to answer cheekily, and he threw in, "With a sword at your back."

Gaius smiled ruefully.

"Right. Arthur already knows that he's a sorcerer, so I can do magic without restrictions and without barriers, and though he will demand answers and may nearly run me through, there won't be many questions. He's our best shot. D'you see? Arthur must have thought something was off that day when I—sorry—Dragoon was caught hiding the poultice because he knew there was no _real _enchantment on him and Gwen."

"You are putting a lot of trust into Arthur's realization that you—er—Dragoon…"

"I know," Merlin murmured. "But it's the best I have. I couldn't think of a single thing that would work better."

"What are we going to say about you—I mean—'Merlin' while you're being Dragoon?"

"Improvise, Gaius," Merlin said with a shrug.

Gaius drummed his fingers on the table for a long time, staring off into space. "Your plan is dangerous, Merlin. And full of tiny holes that could make the whole thing crumble. Promise me—if Arthur does not agree to this truce and to your help, you drink that potion straight away and get back here to make a new plan."

Merlin nodded. "Agreed."

"If this doesn't work, I'm afraid I don't know what will. In that regard, good job, Merlin. We may make a wise warlock out of you yet."

Merlin smiled and ran to his room, beginning to collect the things necessary for the aging spell. He heard Gaius muttering to himself in the other room and clearing the way for the potion.

_This has to work_, Merlin thought to himself. _This has to work_. He set the bowl down and the powder, closed his eyes, and began to chant.

~…~

"I'm fine, Gwen, honestly," Elyan said for the fifth time. "Please, get some rest. If not for me, then for Arthur. He's probably worried sick about you."

Elyan wasn't lying. He felt better than he had when he had woken before, and all he wanted now was for his pestering, fussing sister to leave him to sleep.

He smiled at her. He knew she was just worried about him, but he was worried about those dark circles under her eyes.

"Please, Gwen?" he asked again. "I feel I'm about to fall asleep again any minute. And the girls will be here to keep watch over us."

Gwen's eyes searched his face and softened, and she yawned. "Ok," she finally submitted. "Sleep well, Elyan."

"G'night, Gwen," he said to her back. She gave him a small, sweet smile and left.

His eyes felt heavy immediately. Before the deep blanket of sleep covered him, he thought of how much he loved his sister, and he silently thanked Merlin, once again, for his life.

* * *

><p>AN: And Dragoon returns (finally!) Just to let you know, I've had the next chapter coming up written in my head even before the beginning, so I'm terribly excited put it on paper. I know this chapter had a bit of a weird ending, but it isn't a cliffhanger which is a good thing, I suppose. Hope you've enjoyed. :)<p> 


	10. Disguised Truth

Disclaimer: IDOM

Author's Note: Oh, you cannot believe how much fun I had writing this. I was having fun before, but this beats everything previous. I hope none are disappointed or angry. I really like my plans for Dragoon's character-it's a mixture of slightly insane and goofy and deceptively wise, which is quite like Merlin himself, in a way. Enjoy, everyone. (again, I apologize in advance for my little mistakes, I was too excited to post this.)

* * *

><p><strong>Disguised Truth<strong>

Gaius shook the little vial underneath the candlelight, relief and satisfaction blossoming in his chest. That book had some of the poorest instructions he had ever read, and he could not believe he got that periwinkle color on the first try. The last time…He shuddered. He was nearly too late.

Just as he was beginning to make some back-up potions, knowing full well that Merlin might be changing back and forth quite a bit, Old Merlin stepped out, dressed in robes of red that hung loosely around his thin frame.

Gaius stood and observed his ward. He couldn't deny that he was a little unsettled. The man before him was a stranger with his flowing locks of white and his rather frightening beard, with his wrinkled face and stooped posture, but there _was_ Merlin. He saw hints of Merlin's defined elfish facial structure and etched laugh lines. And those eyes… he saw Merlin there, too, more than he had had previously. He knew many people with blue eyes—he knew none like Merlin's.

"What are you doing with that thing?" Gaius asked, noticing the Sidhe staff Merlin was grasping.

Merlin, who had been embarrassed under Gaius's scrutiny, turned his eyes to the magical staff. He shrugged. "I have this vision in my head that mysterious, old men need a cool staff to complete them."

Gaius blinked and doubled over with laughter, and he said mirthfully, "Ok, ok. What's the real reason?"

"That was the real reason," Merlin croaked, obviously forcing a straight face, absentmindedly twisting the staff into the floor. "The other reason is that it might come in handy."

Gaius wiped the last traces of amused, giddy moisture from his eyes, his worry and concern for Merlin seeping back into him. "Here." He shoved the vial into Merlin's crooked hand. "I'll be making more, just in case."

The Old Merlin—he really should start thinking of him as _Dragoon_—looked at it and then his mentor with appreciation. "Thanks, Gaius."

"Are you sure about this, Merlin?" Gaius asked. He started having second thoughts, and a ton of _what-if_s clambered through his mind.

"Am I ever sure about anything, Gaius?" Merlin teased with a grin. That was Merlin's too.

Gaius felt himself relaxing as he looked at Merlin, who stood with both confidence and insecurity at what was to come. The physician came to the realization in that one moment: one day, he wasn't going to be there for him anymore, and he knew that the boy was nearly at the point of leaving the nest. He needed to fly, and this was his first step towards doing so. Gaius was amazed at the progress he had made since he had first gawkily entered his chambers all those years ago. _You would never believe_, he recalled saying to his ward during the Bellum Sanguinis. A burst of love for the disguised young man overtook him.

"Good luck, Merlin," Gaius whispered.

The white-whiskered face smiled again and nodded. The warlock pocketed the blue potion and turned his back on the physician, walking with determination and purpose.

Gaius watched him go, and after staring at the door for a few minutes, he sighed in frustration. He had forgotten to remind the boy not to do anything stupid. He sighed again. _Not that those words would matter,_he thought. Merlin wasn't _stupid_, per se. But the things he did… Sometimes, stupid things were necessary. Sometimes, Merlin's stupid was quite clever and inventive but utterly dangerous.

No, he couldn't hope that the boy wouldn't do something stupid. He gave up on that long ago, but that didn't stop him from trying to prevent it.

As much as he had taught Merlin, Merlin had too taught. He had taught him to really understand the phrase "heart of gold (1)." He could not even put to words how much his ward symbolized and represented that phrase. He really was a unique, special young man, and there was no one else he neither loved nor trusted more.

_If you trust him with Arthur's life and with your very own_, Gaius thought to himself as he started back where he left off on the potion, _why not trust him with his own as well?_

"Be careful," he whispered aloud.

~…~

Merlin avoided the patrolling guards with barely a thought, and within minutes, he was standing outside Arthur's wooden door. His stomach dropped as he imagined the Prince on the other side.

It was funny to him that just a day ago he had been wishing for the secrets to go away, and now he stood here, facing the unknown of Arthur's reaction to his help and his magic. It took him a few seconds to grasp that he wasn't 'Merlin,' so to speak, right now, and he _couldn't _be Merlin. A shock ran through him as he realized he could be whatever he wanted to be—not only magically, but characteristically. _If Arthur accepted 'Dragoon's' help_, he thought, _I might actually have some fun with this._

Even with these comforting thoughts, he was still frightened. He had to get past the _if_ part before he could feel somewhat at ease.

Suddenly, he heard soft voices echoing from around the corner, and he saw shadows of guards bobbing on the wall. He took a deep breath. It was now or never. With apprehension building in his gut, he pulled open the doors and strode into his Prince's chambers.

~…~

Arthur was lying, now out of his shirt and both boots, on his bed, his head buried into his mass of pillows that tasted slightly of the salt from the few, silent tears he had allowed to well out of his eyes.

He needed to pull himself together. He remembered situations just as dire—the Questing Beast, the Dragon attack, Morgana's overthrow… he managed to pull through those. He needed to pull himself together, if not for his people, then for Gwen and for Merlin.

He winced at the pain in Gwen's eyes when he left. She had known that he did not have a clue as to what to do and had lost hope. He didn't want her worrying about him or their friends anymore, and there was only one way to do that.

Merlin was a different story. He winced again at the pain, a pain so similar to Gwen's, in Merlin's eyes as he looked at their friends and at the fear implied behind his pain.

He knew how much he needed Merlin and realized just how much he relied upon Merlin's consul and advice. Merlin, despite appearances, was his most loyal…friend, through thick and thin, no matter the consequences or the risks. He was always at his side, always knew the right things to say and when to say them, and even though he wasn't a knight, Merlin would lay down his life to protect and serve. Sometimes, Arthur saw something powerful in the man—in his wisdom and his unwavering beliefs and loyalty—something that made him believe that Merlin shouldn't be in the position he was in now—a manservant. He was so much more than that…so much more.

Arthur knew he needed to be there for Merlin for once, and he knew the boy was struggling to find an answer, struggling to get past his fear over the thing and its horrifying Dark power. Arthur needed to be strong enough to stand by him just as Merlin had for him when he was struggling over the countless situations and battles in the past. That was what was required of him as a friend. That was what friends were for.

When the sun rose, he was going to summon the council to discuss the Gvarath. He would need to alert the people, and he had until then, a few brief hours, to prepare himself and summon the strength necessary.

A small ray of hope hit him. By then, Merlin might have a plan. He knew that the servant _had _something in that brain of his. He had faith that they—meaning, _Merlin_—would find an answer. He always did.

That's when he heard the door swing open quickly and someone enter. It could only be Merlin.

Arthur picked up his head from the pillow, not turning to see the servant. He wasn't ready to see him; he hadn't gathered his thoughts yet. "Merlin, please, leave me in peace," he said kindly. "We have a big day tomorrow. You should get some sleep. Whatever you have to tell me—it can wait 'til morning."

He froze as 'Merlin' chuckled. That chuckle _wasn't_ Merlin. "I don't suppose this _Merlin_ would be too happy with the state of your room," a vaguely familiar, croaking voice said.

Arthur rolled quickly, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword in one fluid moment. Lunging across the room, he pointed it inches from the man's throat.

The old man didn't flinch at the sight of Arthur's sword but continued to gaze around the rather messy room with disapproval.

Recognition hit him like a bolt of lightning. "You!" Arthur exclaimed in surprise. His sword dipped a little. "You're still alive?"

The old man grinned at him and then made a show of looking down at his arms and legs. Arthur frowned at the staff in his hand. It looked incredibly familiar…

"It would certainly appear so," the man chuckled, forcing Arthur to focus again on him. "How are you, Arthur Pendragon? I believe we last saw each other on not-so great terms. I believe I was about to be executed, wasn't I?"

Arthur felt his face tense, and he raised his sword to the old man's throat again. "You can't expect me to believe you just _wandered_ in here, sorcerer," he spat.

"Ah, as a matter of fact, I did," the man said smugly. Arthur was completely confused. Did the man really not see the sword hovering right in front of him? Was he not fazed at all? "I believe you really need to teach your guards how to guard better. Oh, and if you recall, I _do_have a name," the sorcerer said brightly.

"Evil only has one name," he said and touched the point to the sorcerer's neck. "I should run you through. I should've done it when you nearly had Gwen executed."

The sorcerer sighed in amusement. "And _I_told _you_ that you wouldn't want to run me through because I had a plan. Now, if you would kindly stop being such a fool and decide to listen… you might want to hear about _that_plan and the one I have now."

For a second, he was shocked at the words, a small doubt creeping into his mind. Could he possibly have the answer? Could he be telling the truth? Then he realized that he still didn't seemed fazed by the sword—just as he hadn't those few months ago. What the _hell_ was wrong with the man? _He must be mad_, Arthur decided. _Evil and mad_, _not a good combination_.

"You have magic. You're evil. I don't trust your so-called 'plans' nor do I want anything to do with you!" Arthur said.

The sorcerer spoke again, kindly, "I don't think you really believe that, Prince."

Arthur looked into those eyes…_those eyes_…Then he blinked and sneered angrily, "How can _you_ know my mind, sorcerer?" He put more pressure on the sorcerer's throat, not yet drawing blood. "How are you in Camelot? What d'you want from me? Are you here for your revenge?"

"I live here; I want nothing from you. I think actually it's more a question of what you could potentially want from _me._ And of course not! Revenge? Honestly, Pendragon. If I wanted you dead, I would have left you be. The others would have finished you off long ago. I've always been there to help you, and I am here now," he rambled quickly, counting off the answers to each of Arthur's questions on his fingers sarcastically.

Arthur shook his head in disbelief, and his mouth dropped open. He knew that the sorcerer had shouted for revenge right before he escaped. He sounded pretty serious then. What else would he be here for? But then again, why was Arthur not dead now?

He remembered the man's insults a few months ago as he stood before his father, receiving his sentence: "_And _you! _I've heard how you…mistreat your servants…You're a spoilt arrogant brat, with the brains of a donkey and the face of a toad_!" Both he and his father had obviously had suspicions on the state of the man's mental health then and had deigned the aged man to be pretty harmless…But he _was_ a sorcerer, and he had magic. And because of that, despite appearances, he was dangerous.

His thoughts went around and around, and he saw absolutely no other explanation except that his suspicions were confirmed. _The man was absolutely insane_.

"Alright," he lowered his sword lightly and grabbed the sorcerer's thin, bony elbow. "You're going to the dungeons. I don't have time for senile sorcerers right now."

"Hey now!" the man cried in genuine offense. "That was out of line. I'm not _that_ senile!" he protested in a scolding tone. "You imbecile! How can you be so blind?"

"GUARDS!" Arthur called. The old man didn't struggle. "Arthur," the old man sighed. Arthur jerked at the use of his name. "D'you honestly think that I'll go willingly to your disgusting cells? The guards cannot stop me, and neither can you. As you pointed out: I have the magic to elude you all."

_What the hell?_ Arthur thought, his head spinning. "I don't know how you managed to escape before, sorcerer, and how you managed to remain hidden. Nor do I know your true intentions or how in the world you got it in your head to come here. But—"

The guards burst in, and Arthur saw the sorcerer's eyes glow gold and heard him mutter some words. The flames from the brackets on the wall suddenly floated off and began to come to the sorcerer.

Caught off guard, Arthur thought only the worst, and he instinctually dropped the sorcerer's arm, backed away quickly, ready to dodge when the sorcerer sent that fire ball at him, and then prepared to attack relentlessly. However, the sorcerer immediately took advantage of his actions and the guards' wide-eyed surprise at the floating balls of fire, and he dashed away, yelling in exasperation, "The thanks I get for _saving _your ass!"

_Saving?_ Arthur thought, his mind reeling again. _What the hell? How did he—how could he—how could I be such an idiot for letting him go_? Arthur groaned to himself as the hovering balls of fire just fizzled and died, throwing that part of the room into the darkness. He stared at where they had been a moment ago, surprised. _Why_…?

He shook his head violently. "After him!" he commanded the guards half-heartedly.

The guards nodded and ran out. Arthur sat back on his dining table, doubt spreading through him even more than before. _What the hell just happened_? he asked himself. _Why did he just…run?_

~…~

Merlin cursed at himself as he ran. That could've gone better.

He had been trying to throw off the guards that Arthur had oh-so wonderfully decided to send after him, but as Arthur had once commented: he was a doddery, old man, and he wasn't moving as quickly as he would have liked to.

He paused in an empty corridor, breathing heavily and thinking of using the potion…but then he realized he was just outside Morgana's old chambers. _Gwen's chambers._ They would be empty! She was staying up with Elyan, wasn't she? He saw the guards nearing the corner, and without a second's more hesitation, he entered the rooms, hoping that they had not caught sight of his ridiculous flapping robes as he slipped through the doorway.

~…~

Gwen was awakened once again by someone trying to be silent, by someone who neither understood the meaning of silence nor knew how to be silent. She stirred in her bed and sat up with a smile, and she saw a dark form leaning its ear against the door and heard his panting._Merlin_. He had snuck into her house when he was in trouble so often that she knew it could be no other.

"What have you done this time, Merlin?" Gwen yawned.

Merlin's gasp was followed by a loud thud and the hiss of a swear word, and she saw his familiar blue eyes piercing through the darkness. Suddenly, they glowed gold, and she froze in fear at the sign of magic. The room erupted with a blue light originating from the tip of the staff that Merlin…_That wasn't Merlin_!

She opened her mouth to scream, but the old, whiskery man's surprised eyes flashed gold once again. Realizing that no sound was coming from her throat, she put her hand to her collar bone, and staggering backward, she fell into a heap on the bed.

Gwen's heart thumped ever more loudly as the man slowly walked over to her. Ready to fight with tooth and nail, she struggled to get untangled from the bed sheets, and when she finally managed it, she backed herself against the wall to face the intruder with Merlin's eyes.

The man stopped, still a good distance from her. "Oh, Gwen," the man whispered, his voice filled with pain and apology.

Her eyes grew wider. Who _was_ this man?

~…~

Trying to calm his breathing, Merlin pressed his ear to the door. He heard the guards rush past, and he let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

"What have you done this time, Merlin?" Gwen's voice called out in the darkness.

He gasped loudly and jumped in surprise. His foot hit something in the dark, and he swore, his magic instinctually reacting. A pale glow from the staff filled the room, and he saw Gwen sitting up on her bed, a smile disappearing from her now pale face.

Merlin saw her open her mouth and close her eyes with the intention of beginning to scream, and without thinking, he used magic to prevent her from using her voice. Wincing at the fear in her eyes, he watched her clutch at her throat, and in her panic, she fell back on the bed, thrashed around, popped up on the other side, and pressed her back to the wall. Her posture warned him of her preparation to use self-defense.

He hadn't realized he had been moving toward her until he stopped at the foot of the bed.

"Oh, Gwen," he whispered. She stiffened, her eyes softening with confusion and then hardening once again with suspicion.

Merlin flinched and turned from her. With a couple of words, he lit the room with the candles and the fire brackets hanging on the walls, and with none at all, he doused the light from the Sidhe staff.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, stepping closer. Gwen slid sideways on the wall, her body language clear that she did not want him another step closer. "I didn't—I—you frightened me," he said. "I'm sorry that I used magic on you."

Her reaction wasn't what he expected. Both eyebrows flew up, and she looked at him with disbelief.

He sighed and said, "You have every reason to fear and hate me. I invaded your chambers, used magic on you, and I know as well as you do that many of my kind have turned against Camelot and tried to destroy her. Even Morgana…"

He saw Gwen's eyes fill up with tears; he took a small step closer and said bitterly, "I claim no relation to those traitors. They have defiled the beauty of magic, the purity and true nature of it. Magic can be a gift, Gwen, but here in Camelot, it is hard to see it as nothing more than a curse. It is only as evil as those who wield it. Just as one who wields a sword."

On an impulse, he held out his hand, palm up, and whispered, "_Blostma_ (2)." He felt the heat of magic and tears rise to his eyes. He had only once used this spell… _Freya_…

He watched as a beautiful lilac-purple blossom, a blossom of light and magic, materialized out of a shimmer and glitter of air surrounding his palm.

As he held it out to her, he whispered, remembering he used similar words when speaking to the young sorcerer Gilli, "You don't have to fear me, Gwen. I promise… I would never do anything to hurt you."

He avoided her eyes as he waited for her to take the flower. If she did not, he knew there was no hope of talking to her…but if she _did_…

He was surprised when he felt her feather-light touch gently cradle the flower. He looked up at her, and she smiled weakly.

"I will lift the enchantment on you if you promise not to scream. I want to talk to you, and I really don't want to get caught when I have the power to help," he whispered.

With slightly suspicious, but cautiously interested eyes, Gwen searched him for a moment, and then finally she nodded and mouthed, "I promise."

Merlin spoke a word and waited anxiously to see if she would keep her word. She was silent for a few moments and finally she asked, "How do you know my name?"

"You may not know me, but I know you, Gwen. It—it is a very long story," Merlin sighed. He remembered it like it was yesterday: him getting pelted with rotten tomatoes and her smiling face as she complimented him on his bravery for standing up to Arthur. She couldn't know those parts yet.

"Tell me," she whispered. Merlin sat and the bed and twirled the staff around, unsure of how to begin.

"Do you remember when you were going to be executed by Uther for sorcery?"

"Which time?" Gwen laughed nervously.

Merlin's lips twitched into a smile. Of course, he knew every time, but he specified, "When you and Arthur were caught out in the forest."

Gwen blushed and tried to hide her surprise. "I remember."

"How much did Arthur tell you about what happened? How you were able to be released?"

"He—he said that… someone was caught planting a poultice in his room—a sorcerer, an old sorcerer—who also claimed that he enchanted me…he escaped on his execution day, and I was set free," her voice was completely perplexed. "Neither of us were enchanted…I never understood…"

"That sorcerer was me."

She gasped, and he continued, "You knew who really planted the first poultice. It was Morgana. You knew, but there was no way that Uther would have believed such accusations at that time."

"I didn't tell anyone of my suspicions save…_Merlin_," she whispered.

Merlin winced and decided to pretend he didn't hear. "Your love for Arthur is pure and true, as is his for you, and you were blamed for enchanting Arthur because of Morgana's greed for the throne. She saw that you and Arthur loved each other and wanted to prevent you from becoming his Queen. I stepped in, allowed myself to get caught so that you might walk free and so that you and Arthur could—"

"_Why?"_Gwen breathed, her throat thick with tears when she recognized the truth.

"You are a Queen that both Arthur and Camelot deserves," he said. He almost added that she was his friend, but that would have given him away.

"Why are you here now?"

"I just went to see Arthur. Let's just say, I didn't explain myself too well. He isn't as… _level-headed_ as you are."

"Why did you go to Arthur?"

"I know how to defeat the Gvarath. He needs my magic, and I need his help."

She gasped, making an obvious effort to hold back tears of relief. "_Who_ are you?"

Merlin avoided her eyes. "That is a very difficult question for me to answer."

"Try," Gwen said, "I want to remember what you say to me. It is not very often you find yourself talking to a sorcerer who risked his life for you and that you—" she twirled the flower stem in her delicate fingers "—instinctively trust."

Merlin blushed. "I—I call myself Dragoon."

"But that is not who you are."

"No," Merlin admitted. "I—I have other names. I have other titles. But who I am—I am a protector of Arthur, and that is all I ever have been since I came to Camelot years ago."

A tear escaped and dripped down her face. Without thinking, he reached up and brushed it away. She didn't recoil, but she locked eyes with him, still searching and confused.

"You have been here for years?"

"It is not easy hiding who I am, Gwen," he said, pouring his heart out to her without thinking. "It seems no matter how much I try, no matter what I do—I am in disguise, always."

Gwen stiffened. Her eyes moved up and down his face, and Merlin felt uneasiness growing in the pit of his stomach.

"It is you, isn't it?" Gwen asked, her voice barely audible. "Merlin?"

Merlin's eyes grew wide with fear, and he shuffled away. He could not avert his eyes from hers.

All of a sudden, she let out a sob and threw her arms around him. "You—you told me when we first met, the very first time…" She pulled back and gave him a critical look, "Say something, please?" she begged.

Merlin was still in shock, and seeing he needed a push, she giggled and said, "Honestly, Merlin! What kind of name is Dragoon?"

"That's the second time someone's said that to me in less than an hour," Merlin muttered.

"Who was the other?"

"Gaius." He rolled his eyes. "Who else would tease me about that?"

Gwen laughed musically, and after an awkward silence, she finally said, "This is really bizarre."

"I—I'm sorry, Gwen… You cannot imagine…." Merlin began pleadingly.

She shushed him. "No, Merlin. I'm sorry for what you've been through. Everything—everything that's happened since you've came here—everything...well, almost everything makes sense now. And I—I—I just can't believe that you—you have—"

"Magic," Merlin finished for her bluntly.

"I think, Merlin," Gwen began slowly, "that I have you to thank for my life—quite a few times over."

"You're welcome," the warlock mumbled.

"Merlin, look at me," Gwen said to him. He did as he was told. "My thanks extend beyond my life. You have sacrificed more than I can even comprehend. Thank you—for everything."

Merlin finally smiled and he said, "I'm always expecting the worst, and it seems I'm proven wrong. Yet again."

"Again?" Gwen asked.

"I have always had magic, Gwen. Back in Ealdor, my mother told me I could move objects with my magic before I could talk."

Gwen's eyes widened. "I've never heard of that."

"It is part of me, Gwen, part of my very essence…I cannot live without it. When Will found out…my mother was frightened that I was no longer safe in such a small village where most were suspicious of me and, truth be told, _resented _me for my..._oddities_. She sent me to Gaius. When I first came to Camelot, I saw a man being executed for magic. I was determined not to reveal myself, but that didn't go to plan. Gaius fell from the balcony in his chambers, and when I used my magic to save him, he found out. He's taught me so much, Gwen, and he's protected me ever since. Lancelot was the next to find out—the griffin episode—" he purposely left Freya and Gilli out because that would take too long to explain "—and Percival, just before we left a day ago, I stupidly left my book—my spell book out…All accidental cases, and every time…"

A tear unwittingly sprang up and trailed into his beard. "Dammit," he swore. "I really hate this thing," he said absentmindedly.

Gwen looked him up and down, as if suddenly becoming aware that he was… old. "What did you do to yourself?"

"Aging spell," he muttered. "Wanted to be able to use my magic without trying to hide it and without being recognized. Not working out too well, I see," he teased.

Gwen looked a little overwhelmed, but she calmed herself with a few deep breaths. "This is what you wouldn't tell me in the infirmary and why you wouldn't accept my trust. You thought that I would…_hate_ you for lying, for keeping your magic a secret... for simply being…_yourself_."

"Yes."

"Merlin, I would _never_ hate you. Not after all that you've done for Camelot and for Arthur," Gwen said sincerely.

Merlin smiled genuinely. "I know you have questions, and I know that I owe you answers, Gwen. But now's not the time. The Gvarath is still out there. I need to have Arthur accept my—I mean, _Dragoon_'_s_—help. That's the only way."

"How did you learn this?"

"If I can explain this to Arthur, you will hear," he said, twitching with nervousness at what that knowledge might do. "Will you help me, Gwen?"

"Of course, Merlin. Why wouldn't I? Wait for me a second." Gwen got up and quickly ducked behind her changing screen.

Merlin waited, his mind reeling. He distractedly conjured up a flame and began playing with it, trying to sort through the things that had happened so quickly.

"Merlin!" Gwen gasped in surprise.

"What?" he asked in fear. "What is it?" He saw her looking at the little flame dancing in his hand, and he released the magic. "Oh…I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. It's—Gaius doesn't usually—he'd probably _kill_ me if…"

Gwen rolled her eyes and said a little shakily, "It was my mistake—me being silly. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready," he said with a smile. "Let me lead, Gwen. The guards may still be around."

Merlin and Gwen set out, and she whispered to his back. "You're a really good friend, Merlin. Arthur will know that, when you decide to tell him…or when he finds out."

Merlin beamed at her, and said, "Just remember I'm calling myself Dragoon."

Gwen covered a giggle. "I really don't know how Arthur hasn't managed to recognize you, Merlin."

"That's the supposed to be the whole point of the aging spell, Gwen."

* * *

><p>AN: (1) :D Reference to the third book of this Prophesized series: Heart of Gold.<p>

(2) Spell taken directly from 2x09

Alrighty-so another little Reveal. This one I wasn't sure of until I wrote it (quite like Percy's), but I always knew that Dragoon was going to meet Gwen and need her help to convince Arthur. The very first scene I thought of when thinking up the story was the flower. I thought it was sweet. :P ****My explanation of why I had Gwen find out (before people get angry)**: I think she is too smart, too deep, too observant, too open-minded, too clear-eyed, and too caring not to fit the pieces together. It felt like I'd be bashing her character and writing OOC if she didn't. I'm not saying that Arthur's not smart or any less caring than she is... he's just more the type that sees only what he wants to see, and he is still trying to sort out his opinions on magic. I feel it would take him a lot longer (and a much bigger slip from Merlin) for him to realize. You might have a different opinion on Gwen knowing, but this is a Reveal fic, and once Arthur knows...it won't be long before everyone else does, in my mind. :)


	11. A Senile Sorcerer and a Guardian Angel

Disclaimer: IDOM

Author's Note: I rewatched 3x10 last night, and you cannot imagine how much I was giggling my head off. No matter how many times I watch it, Dragoon gets me every time. Quite inspiring stuff. I'm glad I did him some justice, and I hope I do well here. Thank you everyone who has been reading and reviewing.

Sorry, I don't usually like to respond to reviewers on here, but since I cannot pm these two, I must:

pixie: I cannot remember in which chapter it was, but I mentioned briefly that Gwen was given Morgana's old chambers (those rooms specifically at her own request) as she is now being courted by Arthur openly and has a Knight for a brother. Sorry if that was not clear.

a fan: Thank you for your compliment on my grammar. You have no idea what that means to me.

* * *

><p><strong>A Senile Sorcerer and a Guardian Angel<strong>

Gwen followed Merlin's gawky gait as they carefully walked through the palace. It was a bit odd, seeing him like this, but she felt surprisingly at ease having found out his secret. She had always known that there was something about Merlin, something he hid away behind his mask of cheerful idiocy. She knew that he was anything but an idiot, and the cheerfulness had always been a part of his character in contrast to his serious determination. However, now that she knew, she felt as though everything about his character clicked into place. Every odd contradiction and odd quirk pointed directly towards his center: his magic. Everything that he was and everything that he did revolved around his magic. He finally made some sense to her, and she understood.

Gwen was lost in her memories. She remembered first seeing the young man sticking up for Arthur's past servant and then standing up to Arthur, and she remembered introducing herself to him, all smiles and goofiness, his head locked in the stocks. Little snippets of conversation flashed in her mind. She recalled telling him that he didn't look like a "rough-tough-save-the-world" kind of man and realized the irony in that. _He might not be "rough and tough_", she thought fondly, _but he was just as much of a "save the world" kind of man as Arthur. _She remembered the day he became Arthur's servant, and she recalled him telling her: "Believe me, Gwen. I'm not ordinary."

She remembered everything: Merlin asking her for a wheelbarrow to carry a statue of a dog, Merlin knowing of the recovery of her father during the afanc's attack on Camelot, Merlin visiting her in her cell when she had been blamed for the recovery of her father, Merlin helping Morgana with the Druid boy, Merlin fighting at Ealdor, Merlin asking her if she would kill Uther if she could for what had happened to her father, Merlin's knowledge of the goblin in Gaius, Merlin always being somewhere he wasn't really supposed to be, Merlin always barging in, Merlin's participation in every one of the main going-ons: the battle with the Great Dragon, the Bellum Sanguinis, the battle with Cornelius Sigan, Merlin's courage in the face of the unknown, Merlin helping all the strays he had come to meet: Lancelot, Gwaine, Elyan, Merlin acting and standing at Arthur's side, Merlin serving and protecting, Merlin smiling, Merlin helping, and Merlin giving her a shoulder to cry on…

Everything she remembered of Merlin, she reviewed and contemplated. _He had grown so much_, she thought with pride. She now realized the extent of his pains and that darkness inside of him. What he must live with on a day to day basis…all those secrets that he's built since becoming Arthur's servant…she was scared to even think about how tortured he really was. Despite all that he's done and been through, despite all that Uther had put him through, despite all that _Arthur_ put him through, he was still there, always there, with a smile that could brighten the mood of a room before she could snap her fingers. She was horrified that he thought she would hate him. How could anyone hate him, after all that he's done?

He was sensitive, thoughtful, and kind—he had perhaps the gentlest soul she had ever seen. She couldn't imagine Merlin having a shred of evil within him, but she shuddered to think at what he could do—what he had done and will do—when someone he loved was threatened. Somewhere deep inside herself, she recognized that she was friends with possibly one of the most powerful sorcerers she had ever seen.

Her eyes welled with tears at the thought of his sacrifices, for not only Arthur, but for _her_. It seemed that the depth of their friendship meant so much to him that he would be willing to risk his life. She remembered him not doubting her about Morgana and him promising and reassuring her that he'd think of something. _He's my best friend_, Gwen thought. It had never really struck her until now.

He'd been there every step of the way. His magic has been such a central, key player in Arthur's growth as a person and as a ruler that it made Gwen's head spin.

She bumped into Merlin suddenly, and whispering an apology, she realized that they were before Arthur's doors.

"What's the plan?" Gwen asked.

"There is none," Merlin said, knocking lightly on the door before she could protest. "My favorite kind." (1)

~…~

Dozing on his bed, Arthur was jolted to reality by a gentle knocking at his door. He frowned: that _couldn't_ be Merlin.

"Enter…?" he called, trailing off in a question.

"It's Guinevere, Arthur," her voice said from the other side. He heard her pull at the door. "It's locked," she announced embarrassedly.

When the guards returned to report that other groups were looking for the sorcerer with little success, Arthur refused to sound the warning bell. They were shocked, but they just bowed their heads and earnestly insisted that he keep his door locked while the searches continued. He did it to put their minds at rest and to make them shut up. As he began to roll out of bed, Arthur mumbled under his breath, "_Damn sorcerer_."

He heard someone mutter something, and suddenly the door swung open, revealing a slightly flustered Guinevere, who smiled and said, "Never mind."

She stepped in and looked perplexedly back into the shadows of the corridor. That's when Arthur saw the hunched form of the sorcerer.

Arthur moved quickly; he grabbed Guinevere's arm and yanked her behind him, and he yelled, "You again!"

Ignoring Gwen's protests, the old man sauntered in and smiled at him. "Hello there," he said cheerily.

Arthur's hand went automatically to his hip, but his sword was not there. Of course it had to be over on the bed where he left it, and uneasiness occupied every pore of his being.

Noticing the movement, the old man sighed, and his eyes suddenly flared gold. The sword pulled itself from its scabbard and in the blink of an eye, appeared right before Arthur. The Prince froze as the sword hovered before his face, fear creeping up his spine. Then, to his vast surprise, the sword lowered itself gently to the floor at his feet.

"Do you feel better now that you've got your shiny poker?" the sorcerer said in a tone that reminded him awfully of Gwaine, gesturing for him to pick it up.

Gwen dodged around Arthur and carefully kicked the sword away before he could so much as touch the hilt, and it clattered across the ground. "There's no need for that, Dragoon."

Arthur stared at Gwen and swore under his breath again as an explanation popped into his head.

"Come now, Prince," the old man chided. "That's no way to speak in front of a lady."

Gwen hid an unladylike snort, and Arthur looked between the two of them, confusion overtaking surprise and anger once again.

He shook it away and allowed the anger to fill him. "What have you done to her, sorcerer?" Arthur asked with a stressed calm. "Release the enchantment on her!" he commanded.

"Why do you always assume enchantments, Prince?" the old man muttered, cocking his head.

"Arthur, I'm not enchanted." Gwen said sternly, looking deep into his eyes. Arthur ignored the annoying humming of the old man and searched her face. Her eyes were bright and determined. "Listen to him."

"Why should I listen to a sorcerer? Look at him! He's completely insane!" Arthur hissed, gesturing a hand at the old man, who had decided to make himself comfortable at Arthur's dining table—he even had the nerve to rest his feet on the top—and was now leaning back with his arms crossed behind his head. He was staring at the ceiling, humming tunelessly. The continued humming grated at the Prince's nerves.

"Thank you, Prince," the old man said sarcastically.

Arthur just stared at him in bemusement before shaking his head. "He must have enchanted you! Why else would he be with you? Why else would you consort with him? I should kill him now!" His eyes narrowed at the old man. "That will break—"

"Arthur!" Gwen scolded, genuinely angry. Arthur jumped and looked in surprise from the day-dreaming old man to his love. "You have never been your father, and you _will not_ start now."

Arthur felt the words stab at him, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide that from Gwen. _She was right_, he realized.

"Arthur," Gwen said, her tone softening. "I believe you confided in me that Merlin once told you that you needed to learn to listen as well as you fight. Why would you be this way…when he has done us no harm? Here we are, standing here, and there he sits _doing nothing_. Perhaps he's overly cocky—"

"I heard that!" the man croaked crankily.

Gwen grinned and continued, "—but to me, it's a gesture for peace. He has magic, yes, but has he done evil? For the gods' sake! Another sorcerer would have run you through just then with that sword! But _he_ didn't! He _offered_ it to you so that you would feel more comfortable talking to him."

Arthur noticed the man had stopped humming and was watching the two with intelligent, blue eyes. He felt two different sides of him pulling at him relentlessly. Gwen had to be right. She was better at reading people than he was, after all...

"We owe this man so much, Arthur," her voice suddenly broke. "He's saved my life. When you first met him—"

The old man leapt up with surprising speed. "Will you allow me to explain, Gwen?"

Arthur was dumbstruck at the old man's casual, friendly use of her name, and before he could protest—or even gather his thoughts to protest—the old man explained what really had happened when Arthur caught him a few months ago.

"_Morgana?" _Arthur whispered, his hand going to his forehead, looking to Gwen for confirmation. Everything was clear to him now. All those doubts he had were now truths. It was all…so easy to believe and accept.

"I saw her smirking as I was being led out, Arthur."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Arthur asked, his voice rising.

The old man ground his staff into the ground, and Gwen gave him a sad smile. "Would anyone have believed me, Arthur?"

Arthur had to agree with that. No one would have. Accusing Morgana would probably have resulted in a faster execution.

Arthur turned to face the sorcerer, who was watching him carefully. His eyes were hard, wise… _sane_. _Nah_, he waved the notion away,_that _must _be a trick of the light_.

"This proves to me that you're insane, old man," Arthur said. The sorcerer beamed at him and snorted. "I don't know anyone who would even think of doing such a thing…but," he felt his eyes soften, and he said reluctantly, "I suppose I should thank you for her life."

"It is not only her life, Arthur," the old man said.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked in surprise.

The old man muttered a few incomprehensible words, and a glowing ball of blue light appeared in his palm. The man tossed it in the air, and it bounced lazily in the air.

There was a long, drawn out silence. "That—that was _you_?" Arthur finally said in awe, watching the familiar ball of light bob around. Suddenly, everything flipped in Arthur's mind. He knew that the sorcerer had the kingdom's...and his...best interests at heart.

The old man began to play with it, bopping and juggling it between his hands above his head.

"What?" Gwen asked in confusion, watching the old man play with the ball of light.

"The poisoned chalice. Merlin—that's my servant—" he threw in absentmindedly for the sorcerer's benefit.

"Believe me. I know who Merlin is," the man murmured, catching the light and tossing it up again.

Arthur paused in surprise. "_What_?"

"I am always near, Prince."

Before he could question him further, Gwen interceded. "The light, Arthur?" she asked, curiously.

"You remember," Arthur whispered. "I went for that flower to cure him. The only reason I escaped from those spider-infested caves alive was because…that light guided me to safety. It is the same, I can tell. It has the same…_presence_."

Arthur stared wide-eyed at the old man. He was smiling, and he said, "There have other times, in other places, Prince."

A flash of memory burst into his mind:

"_I thought we'd lost you," his father had sad._

"_Don't worry, Father. I'm not going to die," Arthur had responded with a smile, hiding his lingering weakness and pain from the bite. He was terribly sleepy, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. "I think there's someone watching over me, keeping me from harm."_

_He expected his father to chuckle and brush aside that feeling he had—it was the first time he had ever spoken of it aloud, but Uther had surprised him._

"_Maybe you're right," the King agreed, swinging around the bedpost. "On your long journey to become king, you'll need a guardian angel."_

"You—you have been in Camelot? You—you…?" Arthur gasped.

"I am always near, Prince," he repeated eerily.

Arthur just gaped, his mind rifling through his file of memories. "How have I never caught you? Never seen you?"

The maniacal glint in the man's eyes returned. "Who's to say that I'm not hiding in plain sight? Who's to say that I'm not hiding right now?" he suggested.

Arthur blinked. His head began to pound at the man's bipolar personality. "You make no sense whatsoever, sorcerer."

"His name is Dragoon, Arthur," Gwen reminded him. "He deserves that kindness."

Arthur snorted. "I honestly don't believe that's his name. What mother names their son _Dragoon_?"

The sorcerer—_Dragoon_—snickered, "It isn't my birth name nor my given name, but that is the name you know me by so, for all intents and purposes, that _is_ my name."

_What? _Arthur's brow furrowed at the sorcerer. How many names did the man have?

"Why?" he asked the most important question of them all. "Why have you done these things?"

Dragoon allowed the ball of light to vaporize and disappear, and he gave Arthur a look with those icy blue eyes that made him think that the man was reading his mind. "Do you believe in destiny?"

Arthur wasn't sure. He recalled a conversation he had with Merlin, in which Merlin told him, _"Destinies…are troublesome things," _and briefly wondered where the idiot was, before realizing that the man was still waiting for an answer. He decided on a snort—a noncommittal answer.

Dragoon barked a laugh. "It is hard to differentiate between what you think is your free-will and what destiny is making you think your free-will is. I'm not sure what I believe because I believe I'm acting of my free-will, but my actions have also been written in the stars. You see the complications? I help you—I protect you because I believe that you will be a greater king than your father could ever hope to be. You are a better man than your father, and always have been. I would gladly die for you." He bowed his silver head in subservience and loyalty.

Arthur jaw dropped, and he snapped it closed before anyone could see. A sorcerer—a sorcerer hiding in Camelot…and _protecting_ him, Arthur Pendragon, the son of Uther Pendragon, the man who had hunted and prosecuted hundreds of his kind? A sorcerer who claimed loyalty to him? "I still don't understand…"

"Sometimes, Arthur, you don't choose magic. Sometimes, it chooses you. (2) Or at least, it did for me. The choice—" Dragoon tapped the side of his nose "—is how you wield it."

Arthur released a shaky puff of air. He remembered the magic of the book and the revelations he had had in the past few weeks following Morgana's betrayal. Dragoon was a living, breathing representation of them. His weakening beliefs in the evil of magic crumbled some more.

Suddenly a shock hit him. What else had Dragoon done for him? What else was the man hiding?

"Why are you even here now?" Arthur asked quietly. "I don't believe you came simply to clear your name."

"That was only a part," the man said. "I had to clear my name for you to get it into your thick skull that—"

"Hey!" Arthur warned. "Watch your tongue!"

The old man was obviously going to snap a retort, but Gwen put herself between the two. "Dragoon! Arthur! You cannot be squabbling like two children if you hope to work together to defeat the Gvarath!"

Arthur's interest arose immediately, and he looked at Dragoon with new-found curiosity and—dare he say it?—_hope_.

Dragoon rolled his eyes at Arthur's gaze. "If you recall, I _told_ you I had a _plan_." Arthur felt his lips twitching into a smile at the diabolical tone he adopted. "You just didn't want to listen," he reprimanded with a sigh.

"What is your plan?" Arthur asked.

"I have waited all night to hear you say those words." Tapping the staff onto the ground, Dragoon commanded, "Sit down, both of you."

They obeyed and sat side by side at Arthur's table, but Dragoon remained standing, leaning on his staff. He avoided their eyes—maybe in anxiousness, maybe in concentration—Arthur didn't know, but finally he began seriously, "There is a prophecy that was—until recently—only thought to be a fable, a life-lesson in the form of a song."

"How did you find this prophecy?" Arthur asked suspiciously. "What's the source?"

Those clear, soul-reading eyes flickered to him. "It was not the magic book; I can assure you that, Prince."

"How, Dragoon?" Gwen asked curiously.

The sorcerer gave her what looked like a pained look before he said, "My source is a very wise creature, nearly as old as that book. The Great Dragon. I am his Dragon-Lord."

Gwen gasped, and a hand flew to her mouth, staring at the sorcerer with pinched eyebrows. Arthur's eyesight flashed red with anger, and pain laced up his knees as he stood too abruptly and hit them against the underside of the table.

"I killed the Great Dragon," Arthur said aloud, as though trying to convince himself it was true. "I was told by Merlin that I dealt it a mortal blow."

"Well, he couldn't possibly tell you: 'oh-um-Arthur-it-appears-we-were-mistaken about-Balinor-being-the-last-Dragon-Lord-because-while-you-were-knocked-out-this-random-man-appeared-from the-trees-and-commanded-the-Dragon-to-leave-and-never-return.'" Dragoon blabbered, hardly drawing a breath. Arthur hardly had time to process the words, they were spoken so quickly. _The old man could give Merlin a running for his money_, he thought with an internal grin. Dragoon cocked his head as if the answer was obvious. "Pray tell, how you have reacted to _that_?"

Gwen suddenly started laughing, and Arthur felt his anger at Merlin's lie and the surprising news drain away. The story seemed a bit…off, but that was probably because a lot of what he remembered of that battle was a mixture of pain, fire, and the blurry images that his concussion had induced.

"Fair enough," Arthur grumbled, sitting down again. "Merlin saw this?"

"You could say that," Dragoon answered elusively. Arthur was getting sick of the man's half-answers, but he decided to drop it.

"And you—you're a Dragon-Lord?"

"How else would I have been able to ask Kilgharrah to leave without being burnt to a crisp?" Dragoon asked in irritation.

Arthur held up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Did you know Balinor then? Were you two related?"

A brief pain flitted across Dragoon's eyes. "I did not know him for very long, and yes, all Dragon-Lords are kin." He coughed. "It can be a scary gift. It is not like my magic. Magic is inside me, part of me. I can control that as well as I control my own movements because it is me, and I am it. To have control over and a soul-connection to someone _else_, someone so ancient and powerful…it is a frightening thing," the old man shivered. "Some would become corrupted with that power."

Arthur understood the weight that rested on the man's shoulders. He could not imagine carrying such a responsibility. To be able to _control _someone else... someone who had the compulsion to obey, no matter what...

Gwen looked concerned. "Oh, Dragoon…" she whispered hoarsely.

Arthur could see that she wanted to get up and hug the old man, comfort him. She hardly knew the old man, but she already cared for him as though he were an old friend. She had the most open, sweet heart he had ever encountered, and once someone landed there, once someone did something or said something that she thought worthy of her compassion, she would always be there. It was sinful to her to turn her back on anyone who had gained a position in her heart—it did not matter if they were close to her, or if they were strangers who needed a simple smile. Only the uttermost betrayal could ever turn her from her heart, and as far as he knew, Morgana was the only one to have done that to her.

"I could have killed him for what he did," the old man continued. "He killed so many innocents. But I realized…while his excuses for turning against Camelot were inexcusable, though—I have to admit—quite predictable and almost reasonable, given that Uther locked him away for years, he had done the kingdom many more kindnesses. He has given me more advice than you could possibly imagine, and after I sent him off, continued to give it when I called for him. And besides…" his voice grew quiet. "He is the last dragon; I am the last Dragon-Lord. How could I kill him?"

Arthur didn't hide his amazement this time. The old man no longer sounded crazed and completely inept. He sounded…accomplished and _wise_. "Wow," he said, leaning forward and burying his hands in the crook of his elbow.

Everything that Dragoon had told him was conflicting and combating with years of ingrained and cruel life lessons from his father. He found that Dragoon's was beating Uther's out…every time. He felt Gwen rub his shoulder, and he sat up.

"The dragon—"

"His name is Kilgharrah," the man interrupted, regaining a bright, teasing light to his eye.

"Fine. He gave you the information?"

"He was lucky to have seen it for what it was. It was a lullaby that his Elder Dragon mother sang to him and his nest-mates. He thinks it may be the first Prophecy concerning you."

Arthur's blood froze. There were prophecies about him? He pushed aside his overwhelmed feelings and waited for him to share the song. "Well?" Arthur finally asked when Dragoon did not continue.

"Patience, Prince," Dragoon said irritably. "I haven't the best memory, and I think you'd rather the song was complete than incomplete, no?"

Gwen giggled, and Dragoon began to recite—quite flawlessly:

"_Immortal Gold, Blue pure of heart_

_Together, may Darkness depart_

_Veins of magic, Sword of legend_

_And Breath of life, destined_

_A soul, a mentality, a name_

_Separate paths merge for a single aim_

_Golden blue, Blued gold_

_A bond eternal foretold."_

Not one bit of it sounded helpful in the slightest. His little fire of hope doused itself into barely hot embers. "How does this help us?" he asked exasperatedly, unable to see the true meaning. He never was good at riddles.

"The keys to defeating the 'Darkness,' otherwise known as the Gvarath, are there: the veins of magic—that would be me—the legendary sword—that would be you…when we get the sword, that is—and the breath of life—Kilgharrah's fire. Only together will we be able to rid this world of it."

"How do you know it is your magic and my…_sword_?" Arthur asked in confusion.

"There is a sword that I have hidden, forged from the dragon's breath, which can harness great power. I don't fully understand. It was forged for you—_only_ for you—and it is yours in the Prophecies. My name—the one that resides in the Prophecies—is hidden in the words, as well. Kilgharrah also _guesses_—and I have good reason to believe his guesses—that the gold and blue are our _aura _colors."

Arthur listened through the list of evidence critically and compared it with the words he remembered of the poem. He didn't understand most of it still—especially not the merging of colors and bond stuff—but everything that Dragoon had pointed out…_fit_. Everything made sense. _This was their answer._

He hid his reaction and said impulsively with a straight face, "What is your name in the Prophecies?"

Dragoon frowned. "It is Emrys."

Arthur froze, staring at the man wide-eyed. "I—I have seen that name before! In the book!"

The man hissed, his eyes suddenly becoming dangerous and angry. In a flash, he was in Arthur's face. Gwen leapt up in surprise at his violent stance. "Tell me you did not read it!" he said quietly from between clenched teeth.

Arthur had stood before creatures of all shapes and sizes, sorcerers and grizzled bandits alike, and an enraged Uther Pendragon and had not flinched. No screech or growl, no yell or roar, had ever frightened him so much as this man's quiet rage did.

"No. No, I didn't read it in its entirety. I only saw a few words before I shut the book."

Dragoon searched his face, looking for a lie. Suddenly, the fiery anger in his eyes abated, and he backed down. "It is not good to know your fate before-hand, Arthur Pendragon," the man said, switching to his wise-self. "I know that well. It is horrible to know the future when you can do nothing to prevent it."

Arthur nodded. Dragoon had the air of a man who had seen and sacrificed far too much where that was concerned. He believed him. "I'm sorry."

Dragoon smiled widely. "Just remember not to do it again, and I might believe you," he teased, rapping Arthur brusquely on the head with his staff. "Idiot," he added shortly.

Arthur rubbed his head with as much dignity as he could muster, feeling like a young boy being sent to his room for stealing sweets from the kitchens. Gwen was trying to hide a smile, and he said in disbelief, "You're on his side, aren't you? How was I to know?"

Gwen shrugged. "Best not to go poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"No, that's Merlin's job," Arthur muttered.

Dragoon started to laugh his head off, and Gwen gave him a weird look. Finally, she broke out into musical laughter. Arthur just pouted, not sure what he missed.

Finally, Dragoon wiped a crooked finger across his eye and said, "So, Prince, this is a dangerous route I have offered you, but it is the only route. What d'you say? Are we in this together?"

The old man offered his hand. Arthur looked at it. _Was he in this_? This man had magic, _powerful_ magic, but he had proven to Arthur that he meant no harm. He remembered Dragoon saying to him before, "_If I wanted you dead, I would have left you be. The others would have finished you off long ago."_ He had had ample amount of time to kill him just now, but he had not. And Gwen trusted him not to.

Then he looked up into the man's innocent, but determined blue eyes. They were eyes he found trusting in an instant, and that's when he realized that he had been ready to do this ever since he had first replaced the derogatory 'sorcerer' with the name 'Dragoon' in his mind.

Arthur accepted the hand, and they shook. "Together," Arthur said gruffly with a nod. Gwen beamed in relief.

Dragoon's eyes smiled, and Arthur did not understand why they were so joyously happy. "Well, then, shall we get started?" he asked, a small, slightly devious and mischevious smile spreading across his lips.

* * *

><p>AN: (1) A paraphrased quote from Harry Potter 7 and a commemoration to Fred and George Weasley<p>

(2) quote taken from Morgana in 1x08

Thanks for reading. School is just around the corner for me, and I still have quite a few things to write for my college applications. Updates may begin to get extremely slow. *apologetic grimace* But trust me, this isn't going to be abandoned, no matter how busy life gets and no matter the strength of writer's block (I have been surprisingly lucky not to have been affected badly yet). ;)


	12. Sword in the Stone

Disclaimer: IDOM

Author's Note: You know, I just realized... there's not a lot left to this story. All that is left is the sword, the big battle with the Gvarath, the Reveal, the after-effects, and possibly an epilogue. I may just finish before school starts Monday. *fingers crossed*

Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews, everyone. I hope you enjoy...

* * *

><p><strong>Sword in the Stone<strong>

By the time they were done talking, a pink glow from the rising sun filtered into the room.

"Where the hell is Merlin?" Arthur inquired as Gwen, unasked and clucking like a mother hen, got him some fresh clothes and ordered him to change.

Gwen felt her heart racing, and she said, "I'm sure there's a reason, Arthur."

Arthur snorted, "There's never a _real _reason for his tardiness."

Merlin-Dragoon (it was incredibly bizarre for her to pick which name she used in her mind, knowing that she could not allow herself to slip out loud) grumbled something unintelligible. Gwen hid a smile; he looked as though he was fighting the compulsory urge to go about his servant duties. She could see it in his restlessness.

Suddenly, Gwen asked, "Can he borrow a cloak, Arthur? I don't think people would react well to seeing you walking around with someone like…" Gwen trailed off and put her hand over her mouth at the insult that she had just given Merlin.

"Someone like me?" Merlin-Dragoon asked, hardly offended. "Thanks, Gwen. I know the beard and the hair are a bit much, but it isn't about conformity. It's about originality. And besides—" he stroked it "—sorceresses think it's handsome."

Gwen giggled at Arthur's incredulous look. She could see something potentially rude on the tip of his tongue, so before he could say a word, she explained, "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. What I _meant_ to say is that you need to be careful and inconspicuous, Dragoon. A lot of people saw you before and know you are a sorcerer."

"Good thinking," Merlin-Dragoon said with a lop-sided smile. Gwen's heart fluttered in slight anxiety at how much of 'Merlin' was in that smile. She had to be thankful for the beard hiding his dimples—there would have been no doubt as to who he was if Arthur saw those.

He went to the Prince's dresser without a thought and began rifling through it. "It wouldn't be very good if I got locked up in the dungeons. We'd waste precious time as I escaped…and then things might get quite sketchy and bumpy. And your people wouldn't want to see you consorting with a known warlock, now, would they?"

Gwen couldn't help smiling as Arthur obviously floundered for words. She could see he wasn't sure what to address in Dragoon's words—the implied insult at Camelot's security system and the implied ease at which the man could escape with magic or the insult of invading his space.

"By all means, help yourself!" Arthur finally said sarcastically and irritably as the sorcerer went through his things. Gwen smiled—it was a small sign, but it was there. Arthur was beginning to look at the character over the magic.

The old man ignored him. Gwen hoped that it wasn't too obvious that Merlin knew exactly what he was looking for in the Prince's clothes because he shuffled through the cabinet with a very obvious familiarity and without hesitation. Maybe she just saw that because she knew it was him. She tried looking at Dragoon from Arthur's point of view but found it impossible. _He's too careless_, Gwen worried.

Without looking long, Merlin pulled out a cloak of deep blue and hooked it around his neck. "Quite a dashing color," he commented, pulling up the hood and throwing his whole face into shadow. "With a nice concealing hood to hide my distinguishable and luscious beard." He turned in a slow circle. "How do I look?"

"Like a fool," Arthur said.

Dragoon-Merlin pointed a crooked finger at him and shook it. "I could turn you into something unspeakable with the snap of my fingers. I wouldn't try me if I were you."

Gwen was surprised when Arthur rolled his eyes, and Merlin continued, "And I wouldn't be talking! You're the one _standing _there like an untouched jar of pickled eggs when we're on a time sensitive mission. May I remind you we need to retrieve the sword before sundown and need to return before the creature decides to come out to play? We have _auras _to return."

Gwen flinched at the memory of what was at stake while Arthur had the grace to look embarrassed and ducked behind the screen. "I need to wake up my fool of a servant first," he sighed. "Of all the days, he decides to sleep in today."

Gwen's heart sank, and she was about to protest, but Merlin had grabbed her by the arm and was towing her out of the room. "Fine," he grumbled. "Just hurry up, Prince. We'll wait outside."

Gwen reluctantly allowed herself to be dragged out of the room, and when the door thudded closed behind them, she gushed, "Merlin, what in the world are you going to do? He wants you with…but you _are_ here already…" she paused, realizing how that sounded. "How do you deal with this? It's maddening!"

Merlin chuckled and leaned lazily against the wall. In the cloak and with the staff, he looked incredibly mysterious and…powerful. The shadowy interior of hood was still hiding his face from her, but his eyes pierced through. "Don't worry, Gwen. I'm used to it. If it's any comfort, _I_'m not worried. This isn't the first time Gaius has covered for me." His voice became thoughtful. "I trust he's thought of a good excuse…well, one that's better than 'I think he went to spend the day in the tavern.'"

It didn't comfort Gwen; her nerves were still stretched to the breaking point, but she pretended to relax, for Merlin's sake. Instead she laughed and said, "Arthur believed that you were in the tavern all day long?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Proof beyond doubt that he is gullible."

"No, he just trusts you two."

Merlin flinched, and the hood slipped from his head just enough for her to see his whiskered mouth. "I can't tell him. Not yet, Gwen. I've been tempted; I've always wanted to. But lately, I freeze with fear every time I think about it. I'm not afraid of execution so much anymore…I'm afraid of how he'll treat me. I don't want him to see me any differently."

Gwen observed him carefully. "He will accept you, Merlin. Don't you see? He wants you—er—'Merlin' by his side today."

Merlin smiled, and his eyes shone.

"I just found out—in a matter of hours—that you have magic, turned yourself into an old man, can defeat the Gvarath, and that you're a Dragon-Lord. It was a big shock, I admit, but do I see you any differently? No. You are Merlin and always will be. No amount of surprises can change that. Arthur should see that too."

"Thank you, Gwen," he said quietly, "For helping me."

"You're thanking me, Merlin?" she cried in surprise. "I have only begun to repay you for what you've done. I don't think I ever will repay you in full."

Merlin gave her his blinding, bright smile. "You've accepted me for what I am, Gwen, and you didn't see the monster that I could so easily be. You haven't turned me away. I cannot ask for more than that. You've already repaid me."

Gwen was dumbstruck. She had never before met anyone so humble, so modest…so _Merlin_. "You're a very incredible person, you know that, Merlin?"

Merlin shuffled his feet, and Arthur suddenly burst through the door, grumbling as he struggled to untangle his sword belt.

"How do you always manage to get that thing tangled, Arthur?" Gwen asked in mock amazement.

Sighing, Dragoon snatched the belt away and unraveled it with graceful hands. Gwen didn't think she'd ever describe any part of Merlin as _graceful,_ and after he trust it unceremoniously back into Arthur's hands, he began stalking away. "Are you coming or not?" he spat irritably, pulling the hood back over his fierce hawk-like features.

Gwen and Arthur exchanged a look and followed the anxious, restless sorcerer.

~…~

Gaius hardly slept soundly that night, and he had watched the sun rise as he thought of his ward. He heard nothing: no warning bells, no notices from guards, no _anything_. He didn't know where Merlin was or what he was doing, and even the promise of the beautiful day ahead wasn't enough to avert his worries from Merlin.

He stared blankly out of the window; he knew he should probably be getting to the infirmary to check on his patients soon, but he couldn't find the necessary mask to hide his concern. He sighed. _Maybe I'm just over-thinking_, he tried to convince himself. _Maybe everything had gone according to plan…_

And that's when Arthur, Gwen, and a familiar hooded figure tumbled through the doorway. Gwen gently closed the door behind them.

Gaius jumped to his feet, his eyes on Merlin. His ward pushed back the hood of the blue cloak, his eyes smiling. That was all he needed to know. Everything was alright…but why were they here? How was _Gwen_ a part of this?

"Where is that no-good, lazy servant of mine?" Arthur demanded immediately. Gaius hid a smile—he caught the veiled fondness in Arthur's stern voice.

"I'm sorry I did not warn you. Merlin was hiding serious wounds yesterday, Sire, when he returned with Lancelot." He did not need to explain the extent of the 'wounds,' seeing as the worry coloring his tone spoke all.

Arthur's face fell, but he recovered in the blink of an eye. "Idiot," he muttered.

"I drugged him—against his will—quite seriously so that he could sleep…and heal his body and mind without hurting himself some more. He needs several days to recover." From the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin lower his head in thanks to his well-thought excuse.

Gwen put a hand to her mouth and gasped, "Oh, no. Will he be alright?" She looked worried and concerned, but Gaius caught the little glint of amusement in her eye. For a second, Gaius was shocked; Gwen never found any amusement when anyone was ailing, particularly when it was Merlin or any of the rest of her close friends. Then suddenly, it hit him. He now had a good guess of why she was here. She knew…she knew it was Merlin and had helped him convince Arthur. Warmth filled his heart; she was such a good girl—he knew that she would always be there for Merlin.

"As long as he allows himself to rest, which will be a feat in it of itself, he will be as good as new," he reassured them.

Arthur snorted, but concern was still written on his face and was more than apparent in his voice. "Can I see him?"

"That will not be wise," Gaius said, careful to keep his tone steady and his speech even. "I have no doubt that the draft I gave him is wearing off, and if he sees you I will not be able to constrain him from getting up and about…especially as I see you've found a new friend?"

Arthur looked confused for a second and followed his gaze. "This is Dragoon, Gaius," Arthur introduced quickly.

"Ah," Gaius said nonchalantly. "I remember." He raised an eyebrow questioningly at Arthur.

"He came because he knows how to defeat the Gvarath, Gaius," Arthur explained to his eyebrow. "Magic and some magical sword that this fellow knows about are needed to kill it."

Gaius noted he left out the dragon part and wondered if Merlin had warned him at all about the dragon. However, Arthur's eyes slid sideways to Merlin curiously and challengingly at the same time, and he saw from the look that Arthur had left out that detail on purpose. Merlin had indeed told him, and the physician had to admit he was impressed at Merlin's forthrightness and courage in telling him and at Arthur's maturity and level-headedness given the things he was told.

Nodding and smiling, Gaius said, "I expected as much. I'm proud of you, Arthur. It probably wasn't easy overcoming what your father has taught you to accept that magic is necessary to bring down the creature."

Arthur looked taken aback…and quite touched. Then he asked, "You knew it would need magic?"

Gaius smiled kindly and shrugged. "Lucky guess."

Merlin snorted. "Right, so, we'll be off then, Prince?" he said. Gaius heard the impatience in his voice. "We have a bit of a trek."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Watch each other's backs, and stay safe, Arthur, Dragoon," Gwen said.

Gaius locked eyes with Merlin and gave him a look that meant a mixture of: "be smart" and "be careful." Then he added aloud, "Remember that you two need each other: don't get on each other's nerves. I don't want you killing each other."

Merlin started chuckling, and Arthur shrugged one shoulder in a gesture that implied that he would consider the advice. The two men exchanged a glance that Gaius often saw between the two: one of mocking and teasing affection.

"If he doesn't annoy me to death first," Arthur grumbled.

Merlin added his own condition in the same tone as the Prince, "If he doesn't question me to death first."

The young Prince turned to Gwen and kissed her softly. He murmured some private words into her ear.

"Good luck," Gwen and Gaius said simultaneously.

"I'll definitely need luck with this one," Merlin and Arthur said in sync. The two men looked at each other in surprise.

Merlin was the first to recover. "Good bye, Gwen. Thank you for all your help." Gaius caught a hint of a silent plea in his voice.

After a moment, Gwen caught it too and looked knowingly at Gaius. "Of course, Dragoon. I'm glad I helped clear your name. I have faith that the two of you can restore our friends' _auras _to them. Be careful."

"Good-bye, Gaius," Arthur said. Merlin nodded in farewell, flipped his hood up, and they both walked away, heading out together to find the sword.

Gwen watched them go, her hand raised in farewell. Gaius saw her struggling with tears.

"They'll be fine, Gwen. It is daylight. With Merlin's unrestricted magic and Arthur's skill with a sword, I'd be surprised if any harm came to them."

Gwen drew a quick shallow breath, and she asked, "How did you know I knew?"

"I may be old, but I'm quite observant, Guinevere," Gaius teased. "Merlin and I have learnt over the years to read each other's eyes in situations such as this. I could tell."

"I didn't give anything away, did I?"

"Not to Arthur. But you did to me. I take it Merlin asked you to tell me what happened?"

"Not in so many words," Gwen said with a smile. "But you saw as much."

"How did you find out?" Gaius asked curiously. "Even Arthur…"

Gwen smiled and began to tell him of Merlin's words and Merlin's eyes.

~…~

"Honestly! You're just as clumsy as Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin had tripped for the third time over his robes and a hidden tree root. He caught himself on his staff.

"Well, _you_ try waking through the forest with these things on," he said irritably, taking a fist full of his robes and shaking them.

"Well, here's an idea: why don't you put on some more practical clothes for hiking or perhaps take the horse that I offered you?" Arthur said sarcastically.

Arthur had a point about the trousers…but Merlin's clothes on Dragoon's body would have been a mite suspicious. The warlock just shook his head. "The path is too treacherous for your horses, Prince."

"Then why didn't you hide this damn sword somewhere else?"

Merlin was fuming. "D'you have _any _idea how much trouble this 'damn sword' has given me? D'you have _any _idea how much weight this 'damn sword' has in your future? D'you have _any _idea how this 'damn sword' saved you and your father's royal backsides'? Kilgharrah and I burnish it to save your life. He tells me that only _you _can use the thing—but what ho! Your idiot father decides to take your place and uses it. I get royally scolded, steal the 'damn sword,' toss it into a lake, and I assume I don't have to worry about it until you were ready to wield it. But then I manage to need it again for some other task, I retrieve it, and once done and Camelot saved, I am then warned severely _again_ not to let it fall into the wrong hands, so I go and stick it in a stone in a place no one but I knows about. And now here we are off to get the 'damn sword' for you—_finally_—something that was made specifically for _you_ and something that is going to help _you,_ and you're _complaining _about it?"

Arthur looked completely taken aback. "Have anything else you need to get off your chest?"

Merlin just snorted. "You have no idea, Prince."

Arthur was silent for a while, and Merlin praised whatever lovely god had blessed him with his silence, but then it was broken. "How long have you practiced magic?"

Merlin stopped in his tracks, rooted to the spot. "You are asking me…about my magic?"

Arthur paused, looked at the ground. "Yes," he finally said, raising his sky-colored eyes. He sounded immensely surprised with himself. "Yes, I am."

Merlin searched his face. Arthur's eyes shone with promise, curiosity, and…the desire to learn. He wanted to see the truth; he wanted to believe. And above all, he did not just want to hear his words, he wanted to _listen _to them. There was a difference.

A ray of warmth hit Merlin square in the chest. This was his chance to show Arthur not to fear magic; this was his chance to prove to him that magic was a gift.

He began to walk.

"That question…doesn't really apply to me, Arthur. I was born with my magic. I could move objects before I learned to walk, to talk. When you fall forward, is it not instinct to throw your hands out to catch yourself? That is how my magic was...is. I had very little control—it was pure instinct."

"I have never heard of that," Arthur said with genuine awe. "Is that a…rare ability?"

"My dragon says it is, and someone else once told me that other sorcerers needed years of study before they even began to touch magic. Honestly, I have never thought about it. I don't really…_like_ thinking about it. It has just… always been there," he said with a shrug.

"So you must be…powerful," the Prince mused quietly. Merlin did not respond. "So how did you learn to control your instinctual magic?" he asked.

Merlin smiled. "Caution and fear of discovery. Living in Camelot—you need to learn to hide your magic or you die. Simple as that. But then there were spells. In an indirect way, those helped me learn control as well. Spells direct the magic to a specialized result, which is, in a way, the opposite of my instinctual magic, which is kind of…general. It was the raw magic, that instinctual magic within me, however, that allowed me to learn quickly…to gain knowledge…to gain strength and endurance. Some spells are quite challenging for me to learn, but that is, I suppose, where 'practicing magic' would come in. Lately though, I've advanced beyond spells with words. I can simply use my mind…and my magic—my healing, my defensive and offensive spell-casting—has gotten stronger. Things are coming even more quickly and are becoming more effective than ever. I don't know the reason for it. I can…_Sense _things I never could before. You know," Merlin suddenly broke off with an embarrassed laugh. He had not even told Gaius about the increase he felt in his power. "This is very odd to talk about…"

"Do you want me to stop?" Arthur asked kindly.

"No, no," Merlin said quickly. "This may be the only chance I have to tell you. Ask what you like."

Arthur nodded. "Have you ever…_lost _control?"

Merlin sighed. "Yes. Sometimes…strong emotions: fear, anger, sadness, surprise make me lose control, and my magic acts of its own accord. Self-defense."

"Would—I don't know—_drinking_ or—um—" Arthur blushed suddenly and rushed on, "Would drinking make you lose control?"

Merlin felt a sudden fear prick at his heart. "Why do you ask that?" he asked a little sharply.

Arthur shrugged. "It just…popped into my head. I was wondering…"

Merlin felt himself relax. They had had a part of this conversation with Gwaine and the Knights what seemed like a lifetime ago. 'Merlin' had nothing to do with it. But maybe…maybe he was beginning to fit pieces together. Merlin shuddered.

"I don't drink just for that reason. I don't want to risk it. It is rather funny though: I could drink more when I had less control, and now that I have more magic and more control, I feel like getting drunk would make my mind slip and allow my power to…leak more easily. That doesn't make much sense…but that is how I feel."

"What does it feel like, inside you?" Arthur asked.

"These are very deep questions, Prince. Could you describe how blood flows through your veins? My magic is like my blood. It flows through me in a way I cannot understand. But when I use it! Every pore of my body feels exhilarated with the rush. It is warmth; it is light; it is energy. I feel…wonderful when I use it. I feel like I'm doing something to make a difference. There are no words that I can fully explain how it feels."

Arthur mulled over what he had said for a long time, and Merlin thought he was done questioning him until he asked, "Why do you think you're different—I mean—why were you born with it?"

Merlin winced, his mind going back to Ealdor. "I grew up never understanding my gifts. I never understood what they were, why I had them, or what I could ever use them for. I was lost. I didn't know who or what I was. I feared my power, my gifts. The opinions swirling around me only made me believe that I was cursed, that I was a monster. Very few people tried to convince me otherwise. Then…I came here, to Camelot." A wide smile spread across his face, and his heart filled with love for the place and its people. "Of course, that's where the air of hatred for everything that I am intensified, but I found my reason; I found my purpose, Arthur. _You_."

That was perhaps the second major time that Merlin had announced his loyalty to the Prince. It made his heart swell to say it—as the only sorcerer to stand by the Pendragon. He just wished…_no_, _not yet_.

"You have given me the chance to make something of myself, Arthur. I will be forever grateful," he said sincerely. Only as he spoke these words did he realize how true they were.

Arthur was silent again, and Merlin waited anxiously for him to speak.

"What is it that you want from me? What can I give you?"

"You are the one person," Merlin said, "that can free us all."

Arthur had trouble containing a gasp, and he nearly fell over a root and bonked his head on a low branch at the same time.

It was too good an opportunity. "Might want to watch where you put your feet…and your head. We don't want to damage up the Prince, do we?" he said sarcastically.

Arthur looked as though he were going to retort, but the light of infuriation died away. "Sometimes…" Arthur began, "you sound completely mad, Dragoon. Then sometimes…you surprise the hell out of me with your…goodness and your wisdom." He shook his head. "I never expected to ever meet someone like you."

The praise raised Merlin's spirit above the clouds. "I never expected you to be curious about magic. We learn something new everyday, no?"

Arthur ignored the rhetorical question. "Why don't you hate me? Why don't you hate my father?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I hate Uther Pendragon. He is a hypocrite, a liar, and a murderer. His hatred of magic was his own downfall, and he alone set those with magic against him. I hate that people like me have to hide in fear because of him. I hate that people like me have become bitter towards you and Camelot for your father's mistakes. You, on the other hand, I could never hate. Though sometimes, I think you can be—" he cut himself off suddenly, the words 'a prat' dying on his lips, and he held his hand out to stop Arthur.

The forest around them was silent, and nature sang as it usually did. There was no sign that anyone was creeping up on them, but he felt them. He listened carefully, and he heard it: dry leaves and pine needles being crushed underfoot, the ring of swords being drawn from their scabbards. He closed his eyes: he Sensed about a dozen of them.

"Bandits!" he hissed. Suddenly, he Sensed a slice in the air, and he stopped the arrow inches before it could pierce Arthur's heart.

Arthur stared at it a moment, horribly aware of how close to death he had been, but Merlin sent it away in an instant, hurtling it faster than a bow could have shot it, back into the heart of the bowman.

Arthur jumped as the body suddenly fell sideways from behind the cover of his tree.

A roar from the throats of eleven stinky, bulky bandits erupted all around them. Some had spiked spears and swords, and others had crossbows and daggers. Arthur drew his sword and turned to face the two with swords coming on to him. He rushed at them and began swinging his sword with a fury.

Merlin did not move; he let out a yell and a wave of energy. Six of the bandits went flying back into the trees, and Merlin winced as he heard snapping necks and the cracks of skulls.

He turned to Arthur. He had fatally wounded one man, and as he was beginning to bring a mortal blow upon the other, an ugly, bald man was sneaking up behind him. Time seemed to slow down, and Merlin saw everything with crystal clarity. The bald man's broadsword raised above his head…ready to strike down…Arthur spinning around, feeling Death breathing down his neck, the blood dripping from his sword. Merlin knew he couldn't raise the sword to defend himself…

Anger burned within Merlin, and he pointed the staff, focusing his power, and immediately, bolts of blue lightning split through the air and struck the man in the back. Baldie grunted and fell forwards, and Arthur only just managed to scramble backwards to avoid being crushed by the smoking corpse.

There were only two remaining, and they stood staring—their weapons no longer in their hands, but their uncooperative fingers still curved as though holding them—frozen with fear at Merlin.

He swung his staff around playfully and pointed it at the two standing before him. "Higgly-piggly-ocus-locus…BOO!" he shouted. (1)

The bandits leapt out of their skins and screamed, cowering. Then they tucked their tails between their legs and sprinted away, shouting about demons and old men from hell.

Then there was silence.

Merlin smiled at the staff. "I knew this thing would come in handy!" he said proudly, turning to Arthur.

Arthur's jaw was dropped open. "You—you—saved my life…and you felled…"

"Thanks for the astute observation, Prince," Merlin said sarcastically. "I don't know if the arrow nearly hitting your heart or the big, bad, bald man nearly stabbing you was your clue."

Arthur looked around at the carnage. "Thank you, Dragoon. That was—that was…"

Merlin shrugged it off. "No need for that, Prince. I've been dying to use magic like that for a long time…though I took no pleasure in killing those men." He grinned at Arthur's surprise. "Besides, that's what friends are for, hm?" He caught sight of Arthur's torn shirt and a surprising amount of blood. "You're wounded!" he exclaimed. "Idiot! Why didn't you say something?"

The Prince looked at the wound and said, "I didn't even notice."

Merlin tossed his staff to the ground and forced Arthur to sit. Sitting cross-legged in front of him, Merlin gently tore the fabric from the wound, and he held the arm out and observed it critically. The nick was about the length of his longest finger and pretty deep, as far as he was concerned.

"May I use magic to heal you?" Merlin asked.

"_What_?"

He sighed. "Will you allow me to use magic to heal you?" he repeated.

"Why did you even ask?" Arthur asked in surprise, wincing suddenly.

"I didn't know if you would…really appreciate me using magic on you without your permission."

"Dragoon, shut up," Arthur said. "I really appreciate the thought, surprisingly enough, but answer me this honestly: if I said no, would you do it anyway?"

"Of course I would," Merlin answered. "It may feel a little strange, but do not draw away. Look into my eyes. That helps wonders."

He and the Prince locked their blue eyes, and Merlin probed his magic into the wound. Arthur gasped in surprise at the sudden flash of gold and then at the contact of his magic. When done, Merlin released his arm, and stood.

Arthur observed and touched his arm, which held no sign of any wound, and whispered, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Merlin said, smiling. "Now, hopefully there are no more little surprises. You ready?"

Without waiting for a response, Merlin retrieved his staff and began walking, and Arthur, after a moment of sitting stunned at his now healed skin, wiped his sword on the grass, jumped to his feet, and ran to catch up.

"That was incredible magic—what you did back there," Arthur said, panting. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Thank you, Prince. It was what I was born to do."

"That staff…" Merlin heard the frown in his voice. "It looks familiar," he finally admitted.

Merlin hid his surprise. He didn't think that Arthur would recognize it, and he decided to tell him the truth. "That's because you've seen it before, Prince. I managed to nick it from…either Sophia or her father a few years back, I cannot remember which."

Arthur's eyebrows rose as the memory hit home. "Really?"

"Yep," Merlin affirmed brightly. He suddenly recognized one of his landmarks. "Oh, good news! We're nearly there."

Arthur didn't respond. He looked up at the sun, noting the time—nearly midday—and then at the forest floor. Merlin desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but he remained silent, letting the Prince think.

He jumped in surprise as laughter burst out of the Prince like a belch from a drunk.

"What the _hell_ are you laughing at? You scared me the daylights out of me!" Merlin exclaimed.

Arthur stopped and doubled over at the force of his laughter. "You are insane! I can't believe you decided to scare them away with that nonsense of yours!" he finally managed to say.

Merlin glared at the Prince. "Hey! It was a good idea! I wasn't going to kill them when they were defenseless! It was effective, and they left, and they will not bother us again. Isn't that want matters?"

Arthur snorted, and he struggled to contain another laughing fit.

Merlin began walking again, stabbing his staff into the ground with unnecessary force. _Prat_, he thought to himself.

~…~

Arthur noticed that Dragoon was like Merlin. He couldn't stay angry at him for long. Soon Arthur was asking about how he had gotten the staff and the magic that he used against the bandits. Dragoon seemed pleased and more than happy to answer his questions. The more that Arthur asked, the more he wanted to know and the more that Dragoon openly spoke. He was a fascinating person… and he just now… he had called him 'friend.'

He was just beginning to ponder how he felt about that when Dragoon stopped babbling about something completely unrelated to his last question. He frowned at the old man, a question on his lips, but then he saw it…he felt it.

They were in a natural grove. Sunlight filtered down into the perfect circular tree-lined clearing that housed the giant stone. Glittering like sunlight on the sea, the sword stood alone and proud. It was a beautiful weapon, and it had gorgeous markings on it. It _called _to him; he felt its magic. _Excalibur_, the name suddenly popped into his head.

A named blade was a rare thing, he knew. The Age of naming weapons had long since passed, and he fondly recalled the stories from traveling bards: it had been a glorious Age.

To have a name appear to him…

"It is yours," Dragoon's voice said, interrupting his reverie.

"How will I…?" Arthur asked.

"It will know you."

"But it's encased in solid stone," Arthur protested.**

"And you're the only one able to pull it out." **

Arthur was a little reluctant, but Dragoon suddenly pushed him toward it. "Go on!" the man insisted.

The Prince strode to the sword and rested his hand on the hilt. A shock of recognition and power hit him. It fit his hand.

Dragoon watched him proudly as he pulled the sword from the stone. It was as the sorcerer said—it was like taking a knife from a stick of butter. Excalibur flashed in his hand.

Arthur admired the blade, and he twirled it in his hands experimentally and judged its balance. The sword sung as it sailed through the air.

Dragoon was waiting, watching patiently and expectantly, his blue eyes shining with delight and a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

"It is perfect," Arthur finally said.

* * *

><p>AN: (1) Merlin's nonsense spell-casting courtesy of Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley in HP2<p>

I have really nothing to note right now... ;) Wow...I think this was my longest chapter. Hm.

**Addition made 1/1/12. Had to love how they did this part in 4x13, so I had to add those paraphrased lines in. ;)


	13. Still Fighting Fate?

Disclaimer: IDOM

Author's Note: I know I promised _the _fight, and I was totally planning on it being in this chapter...but then it became too long for me to add it in. ;) The need to build the Dragoon-Arthur relationship was too strong. The next chapter will indeed, have the battle, and it will probably be a lot shorter than the others I have written. I apologize for the suspense that this chapter may or may not build or the possible boredom it may or may not cause. :P

* * *

><p><strong>Still Fighting Fate?<strong>

It sank its fangs into the large, undistinguishable, mutilated animal and tore off a chunk of its hide. The blood of the animal had long since spilled, and its maw was encrusted with its blood, which was fast becoming dark and flaky on its skin.

It had crawled into an old wolf den to await the night, and it huddled itself in the furthest corner away from the few rays of sunlight drifting in. It could not see its colors, and it longed for them. To entertain itself during the wait, it caught some animal—it didn't really care enough to acknowledge what it was—tortured it, abused it, and then finally killed it and had snacked on it throughout the day.

As any good stalker, it had felt the movements of its prey. The golden brat and his precious blue royal were about. They were near, and they were coming. It would be tonight.

The waiting was interminable. Its jaw crushed the animal's skull, bitterly wishing that it was a human's….wishing and lusting for that _brat's _skull in its hands. It was going to have them. It already had their friends; it knew that the two would search for it to get the colors back. It smirked, and the blood on its lips cracked.

_Foolsss_. _They cannot kill usss, _it said smugly to its partner. Its partner hissed inside, and it shuddered with pleasure.

It was going mad with lust for the colors. They were all it thought about throughout the remainder of the hours of sunlight. It imagined how much fun it was going to have dancing with the two men-nail and fang against sword and magic. It imagined how they would taste; it imagined the rush it would have to steal the colors away; it imagined the immense joy it would take in seeing those two pairs of blue, energetic, determined, willful eyes dim to the world. It imagined the brat's cries when it took the blue and then his lack of will to fight when it finally took his gold.

It wanted those two colors, those two beautiful, glorious, wonderful colors—and it was going to have them. It did not think that another feast would compare to the one it was going to have that night.

Its smirk deepened.

~…~

"I'm really glad that you like the sword, truly, I am. I'm completely overjoyed—" Merlin didn't sound overjoyed—his voice was dripping with annoyance and sarcasm—but the warmth of seeing Arthur pull the sword from the stone had not left him. He knew it never would leave. The pride and joy at the sight would probably never fade. "—but could you possibly stop staring at it like a star-stuck lover and focus for a moment?"

Arthur had been fondling and staring unblinkingly at the sword for minutes on end, turning it over and over in his hands. At first Merlin thought it was cute—in a weird, amusing man-and-true-extension-of-arm kind of way. He knew it wasn't everyday that you found _your _weapon…the one that was made specifically for you out of magic, dragon fire, and metal…the one that was meant to be a symbol of your power and upcoming rule…the one that was _connected_ to you forever. But then he began to get a little annoyed: this was a bit much.

"You'll have plenty more time to play around with it if you would stop staring at it," Merlin added in a sing-song voice.

Arthur finally looked up at him and asked, "_You _and the dragon made this for me?"

Merlin sighed. _Thick-head_. "Well, the sword was forged by Gwen's father. I just asked Kilgharrah to burnish it and then got stuck being its guardian."

Arthur looked startled at Gwen's name. "How did you…? Never mind. I'm not sure I want to know how you got the sword from Tom." He ran his eyes over the sword again. "You know, I feel your magic in it, Dragoon. The magic of the sword is overpowering, but I feel it there, like a trickle of water in a rushing river."

Merlin raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued. "Really? Hm. I wonder why that is."

Arthur shrugged and muttered. "You've touched me with your magic just now when you healed me; I suppose that's why I recognize it in the sword…But I think I have felt this magic before…too many times to count," he admitted.

Merlin's heart leapt to his throat. "What?"

"I've never realized it 'til now. It's always been there. Subtle and constant…." Arthur sighed suddenly and shook his head. "But it's a feeling, an impression. I can't physically place it anywhere. I can't believe I only realized it now."

Merlin relaxed again and dug his hand into his pocket. The vial of potion was remarkably still intact. He fingered it for reassurance.

"Dragoon," Arthur said quietly.

Merlin raised his head to the Prince. Clenching his jaw and tilting his chin up slightly, Arthur said, "My father is wrong about magic. You are no monster."

Merlin nearly collapsed right there. "You—you really mean that?"

Arthur nodded. "And I will never forget it."

Merlin swayed a little on his feet, feeling completely light-headed. He was soaring… simply _soaring_. He had always dreamed of the day when he would hear those words—his hand grasped the vial in his pocket.

_Why not now?_ Merlin said to himself. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly…but then he released the potion and withdrew his hand reluctantly. He was surprised at himself. He felt ready—he _was _ready to reveal himself…and yet he still withdrew. Some part of him warned that now was not the time. A small key, a small realization was missing.

"You deserve to be able to walk free, Dragoon," Arthur promised. "When we return to Camelot, you will not be forgotten."

The little vial burned in his pocket, and his hand itched for it. He clenched his hand into a fist. "You, Prince Arthur, are less of a moron than I thought," Merlin finally said, staying true to his character. "But we still have to get through the 'return to Camelot' part before you can make such promises."

Arthur's eyes hardened in determination. The sword in his hand glinted in response to its master's sudden change in emotion. "So…what now?"

Merlin looked to the sun. It was about two hours after midday. "We can either return to Camelot and plan. Or we can…wait."

"Wait?" Arthur asked.

Merlin grimaced. "I don't know how to track the creature. I think...it will find us if we wait for it."

Arthur considered and then nodded. "Will your dragon be ready?"

"He is always ready." Merlin began scrounging for firewood.

"_What _are you doing?" Arthur asked. His tone clearly implied that he thought Merlin was going mad.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Merlin snapped. "Now…why don't _you_ go off and do something useful?"

"But…?"

"Well?" Merlin asked, not looking up from his work. "I'm hungry, and I know you've probably been hiding a protesting stomach all day. We don't want to pass out because of starvation before we go to battle this thing to the death."

It was at that precise moment that Arthur's stomach decided to rumble… _loudly_.

Merlin stopped arranging the firewood and looked up at Arthur with awe. "That sounded like a stampeding bear," he laughed at Arthur, who was looking at his stomach as though he had never seen it before.

"I don't think that bears 'stampede'!" Arthur retorted, quite lamely.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Why don't you go after a cub and see how the mummy bear reacts. I think that you'd learn what 'stampeding bear' sounds like."

"Bears don't '_stampede_'," Arthur insisted again. "They…"

"How would you know? I don't believe you're the type to sit still and relentlessly study a bear's habits."

"And I suppose you do!"

"No, I'm usually too busy chasing after you, Prince!" Arthur rolled his eyes to the heavens. "But, that would be the life wouldn't it?" Merlin said dreamily. "Studying bears? Sounds quite peaceful…living in the forest with no destiny or worries or evil chasing after you…"

"You wouldn't last an hour! You would annoy the bear far past intense vexation with your prattle, and then _it _would be the thing chasing you," Arthur snorted. "I might even have to team up with the bear."

"No… I think I'd just get bored," Merlin teased. "And even _if_ I managed to annoy a bear enough to make it stampede after me, bears are only so interesting. Bandits, evil sorcerers and creatures? Now _that's_ interesting. _Forbearne_," he suddenly commanded, waving his hand over the pile. Deep within the wood-pile, flames sparked and caught. They rose effortlessly.

Obviously, he still didn't get it: Arthur hadn't moved an inch, and he was staring at Merlin with a look that he easily recognized. It was a look of utter disbelief and almost insulting shock that was saved especially for Merlin when he spouted something completely random or wise.

"You are so much like Merlin that it scares me, Dragoon."

Biting off a bubble of giddy laughter, he said with as much of a straight of a face as he could muster, "Neh. Your hunger must be making you hallucinate."

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Arthur turned and began to walk away, grumbling under his breath about hungry sorcerers. Merlin waited, grinning knowingly to himself, and finally Arthur paused and turned around. "How the hell are we going to cook anything I catch? We have no camping…" Merlin was hardly containing his amusement, and Arthur swore, finally realizing how he had been played, and stalked off in a temper.

"Magic, Prince, is a wonderful tool, is it not?" Merlin couldn't resist calling after him, chortling heartily. Arthur didn't turn to look back, and he crashed through the trees. Once Merlin had subdued his laughter, he said to himself thoughtfully, "I really should have remembered to feed him hours ago."

~…~

Arthur shoveled in the smoky, greasy meat, hardly drawing a breath in between each bite.

"You're going to choke," Dragoon told him.

Arthur just grunted and continued to inhale the food. It was amazing how much better he felt. Once his stomach had completely calmed its quakes and he had eaten his fill, he noticed that Dragoon had hardly eaten and was still picking at his food.

"Aren't you hungry?" Arthur asked in surprise. "You were the one that was complaining."

Dragoon looked at the rabbit haunch he was holding with a look of slight repulsion. "Only because I knew that _you_ were going to be complaining before long. You can get nasty when you're hungry."

Arthur was surprised at the man's thoughtfulness, and he was grateful. _There is definitely something more than meets the eye about this one_.

Dragoon held out the meat. "Want it?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'm full. Eat it, Dragoon. You need your strength."

Dragoon grumbled something, nibbled at it, and then just tossed it half-heartedly into the fire. Arthur rolled his eyes, but he didn't comment. He'd had enough experience with Merlin. If he thought it was hard to get _Merlin _to eat, Dragoon would probably be impossible.

Arthur watched the man take a stick and begin poking at the fire. It was something that Merlin always did—without fail. He felt that fondness for the gawky, raven-haired boy creeping up on him, and he forced that thought out of his head. Honestly, what was he thinking? Did he actually _miss_ the idiot?

It felt as though Merlin _were_ there though. Dragoon and Merlin had similar mannerisms, behaviors… they even phrased their thoughts similarly. Sometimes, even their…

Dragoon suddenly pulled out the stick from the fire and blew on it. Arthur found himself eager to watch the old man. His magic was…intriguing, and Arthur found it amazing that he did it at the oddest moments without a thought.

The sparks hung in the air, and before they could disappear, Dragoon muttered, "_Draca_. (1)" His eyes flared like fire. Rearranging themselves, the sparks formed the dragon of the Pendragon crest. Dragoon moved his hand across it delicately, and the dragon began to move with his hand. It uncurled itself, yawned and spread its wings and twitched its tail. Arthur watched in awe as the dragon bunched its muscles, took off, and flew, beating its wings rhythmically. It opened its little mouth and spat a small jet of sparkling sparks.

It was beautiful magic.

The old man contemplated the hovering dragon for a second, obviously in deep thought, and with a sigh, the dragon dissolved. "I have never made it move before," Dragoon muttered with a small smile. His eyes glinted with delight. "That was good fun."

With a light spring in his step, Dragoon stood, retrieved his staff, and kicked dirt over the fire to put it out.

Arthur slid Excalibur into his scabbard, and after studying his old sword for moment, he plunged it into the grass. He wasn't going to retrieve it, and suddenly, he felt a hidden weight lift from his shoulders. This was him finally accepting that she was gone.

"Wasn't that sword a gift from Morgana?" Dragoon asked quietly.

"How did you know that?" Arthur snapped angrily.

Something flashed in the old man's eyes, but before Arthur could identify it, it was replaced with good-natured humor. "I'm a bit of a stalker, Prince. I need to be in order to keep you safe."

Arthur couldn't hide his smile, and he decided to accept the answer. He fingered the hilt of his old sword. "Yes," he finally admitted. "I don't want to be reminded of how much of a sister she was to me. Not when she has chosen her side…and cannot turn back. She no longer has hold on me. I disown her."

Dragoon gave him a sad look that made Arthur believe that he shared in his pain. "That is very wise, Prince."

Arthur turned and blinked away his tears. He did not look back once at the sword, which would remain there until it rusted away, as they began their trek back.

~…~

"Dragoon? Can I ask you something?" Arthur began slowly.

Merlin sighed. It appeared as though the questions were beginning again. "I'm listening," he said.

"Can you tell me about…your family?"

Merlin smiled. "What would you like to know?"

"I don't know…just…about them, I suppose. Did they have magic?"

"My mother has—had no magic," Merlin said, slipping on the tense. It wouldn't make sense if he spoke about her if she was still alive, given how old he appeared. "She was always worrying about me—because of my magic—but she was kind, and she always supported me no matter what I had done or what I decided to do. She was courageous and really sweet and generous to all. I left home for Camelot at her wish. She wanted me to learn my way."

"Sounds like a remarkable woman," Arthur said.

Merlin felt a pang of grief. He missed her. "Yes."

"Your father?"

"My father was banished from Camelot because he was a Dragon-Lord. He had some magic, but I never knew how much. He sought refuge with my mother, and that was when they fell in love. Uther pursued him to their village. To protect my mother, he fled. He never saw her again, and he never knew that he had a son."

"How did you find out?"

"My uncle told me about him," Merlin said simply. It felt remarkably strange to call Gaius his uncle because he was so used to simply calling him by his name, but it was no lie. "I met him briefly before he died. His death allowed me to inherit his abilities as Dragon-Lord."

Arthur mused a little, and he said, "Your story does not fit your age. It sounds as though you're talking around the time of the Great Purge…"

Merlin just chuckled. "I'm far younger than I appear."

Arthur looked dumbstruck, and Merlin fully realized how much he was revealing. If he wasn't careful, Arthur would begin to merge 'Merlin' and 'Dragoon' into one. _He probably already has, _Merlin thought uncomfortably.

"Everything you told me about your magic… sounds like a lonely existence," Arthur commented.

Merlin thought about that. "I once tried to help a young sorcerer who didn't believe I understood what he was going through. We met by chance; he did not know what I was. I could list the number of people who _did _know at that time on one hand. When I revealed my power to him after the situation became serious and he was getting out of control, I told him: 'It's... lonely... to be more powerful than any man you know and have to live like a shadow. To be special and have to pretend you're a fool. I know how it feels. I understand.'"

"Is that really how you feel?"

Merlin smiled. "Sometimes. But I have my uncle—who has never turned me away—and some friends that have readily accepted me. I'm not so lonely anymore."

He realized how true that was. He had always been surrounded by people, but he had always felt separate. He was not one of them. But now, as his nature was slowly becoming known, he didn't feel that wall of separation so much. It was fading. He realized now that was because he was pushing them away.

The sun was lower on the western horizon. It would be only a few more hours until dark. Merlin couldn't contain a shudder—this was it. In a few short hours, they were either going to prevail or be taken by the Gvarath. He needed to prepare himself to touch that Dark magic; no matter how much it scared him, it was necessary.

Suddenly Merlin held out an arm and stopped Arthur, whose hand immediately went for his sword. "Sh, don't move," Merlin whispered.

He slowly pointed his hand towards a beautiful doe and her two speckled fawns. Their ears twitched at them, and there liquid brown eyes shone. Seeing that the two men meant no harm, the mother deer nudged her two wobbly-legged babies, and the three deer flashed their white hindquarters at them as they bounded gracefully away.

"Gorgeous animals," Merlin whispered, tugging Arthur's arm in a gesture to move again.

"You are a very strange person," Arthur finally mused aloud.

"Thank you," Merlin said genuinely.

"May I ask where we're going?" the Prince asked. Merlin knew that he was hopelessly lost.

"Hm. Wait…" They walked a couple more meters, and the castle suddenly appeared above the tree-line.

"We're going to wait for the thing so near the citadel?" Arthur asked in surprise.

"Kilgharrah needs a place that he can maneuver easily," Merlin answered, pushing ahead.

Suddenly, Merlin found himself in the dragon's clearing once again. Arthur recognized the spot in an instant. "We fought the dragon here," he said, twirling around. "How did you know about it?"

"I was there, remember, do—?" he caught himself, and the insult was left hanging in the air. Arthur did not notice like the 'dollophead' that he was.

"Are you going to call him now?" Arthur asked.

"Is that…eagerness I hear in your voice, Prince?" Merlin asked with awe. "I didn't think you'd be to keen on meeting him again after your last confrontation."

Arthur shrugged, pretending as though it didn't matter one way or the other.

"I wasn't going to call him until we needed him," Merlin began. "I feared that his presence would make the Gvarath more reluctant to come to us. Kilgharrah and that Dark snake have an ingrained enmity towards each other. Their ancestors were blood-sworn enemies. But…we still have a few hours of daylight. I can call him now, if you wish?" Merlin suggested.

"Will the Gvarath…smell him or something…and not come?" Arthur asked.

Merlin considered the question. "No. It hunts by its sense of _aura _colors alone. Every living creature has a soul, I believe, but humans are the only creature to have _auras_. It will not know if Kilgharrah has been there. But, it may be able to sense his magic if he is close enough. But then again…he has been here often enough that his magic is imprinted on the place, so it wouldn't really matter."

Arthur looked unsatisfied with that; he crossed his arms and made a rolling motion with his hand.

"I think it will be safe to call him now," Merlin finished simply.

"Would you?" Arthur asked. "I would like to meet him before…"

Merlin nodded and did as he was asked. He called to Kilgharrah.

Arthur jumped back in surprise at the volume of his voice, but Merlin was amazed to find that he was not afraid of him...as he had seen in Lancelot's eyes previously when he called.

"Did you _have _to yell like that?" Arthur asked in mock anger. "If the thing didn't know you were calling your dragon, I think it guessed now!"

Merlin barked a laugh and began to pace. Arthur settled himself on a fallen log and watched the sky, bouncing his legs in his impatience.

It took Kilgharrah fifteen minutes to come. Arthur leapt to his feet when he saw his figure in the sky. He came directly to Merlin's side, confident and still unafraid.

"Don't bring up any past grievances, Arthur," Merlin warned. "He may not like that coming from you. You'd aggravate him, and you'll be subjected to a major speech about your father that you don't want to hear."

Arthur grinned easily at him. "Don't worry, Dragoon. I understand what he did. I wanted to apologize to him."

Merlin's jaw dropped, and he was about to ask the young man next to him who he was and what he had done with the real Arthur Pendragon, when Kilgharrah landed, laughing as hard as he had when he learned that Uther had married a troll.

"Well met, young warlock. Still fighting fate, I see?" he chortled.

"I suppose," Merlin said, looking down at himself.

Kilgharrah ran a dark, amused eye over his body. "A very gallant effort and some very powerful magic, young one. I admire the beard. I think that's the best part."

"Thanks," Merlin said with a sidewise glance at Arthur. The Prince was covering a smile.

"I hope that you know that the time for hiding is coming to a close, young warlock?"

"Yes," Merlin hung his head. "I know. I have felt it. The time is near."

Arthur was switching his gaze back from the dragon to Merlin in confusion.

" 'Young warlock?'" Arthur mouthed to him. He twirled a finger unobtrusively around his temple.

Merlin just shook his head, refusing to answer his question.

"Greetings, young Pendragon," the dragon said, bowing his head politely. "I have waited a long time to meet you on friendly ground."

"Greetings, Kilgharrah," the Prince said.

Kilgharrah looked immensely shocked that Arthur used his name. "Is there some reason you have called me early, young warlock?"

"Arthur wished to see you."

"Ever the servant, aren't you?" Kilgharrah teased, turning his eye back to the Prince. Merlin flinched, but Arthur thought nothing of the joke. Noticing the challenge in Kilgharrah's eye, Merlin realized that the Prince was going to be tested. The next moments were crucial.

Arthur stepped forward. "Thank you for…everything." His eyes flickered to Merlin. "I heard that you have been misunderstood, and that you have been Camelot's savior on a number of occasions."

"Do not thank me, young Pendragon," the dragon said, his tail twitching. "I may have given the help, but it was the man next to you that performed it. He deserves the thanks."

Merlin blushed. "Kilgharrah…" he began to protest.

"And I should be the one thanking you," Kilgharrah said to the Prince's surprise. "Had it not been for you, this one would not have promised to free me."

Arthur turned slowly to Merlin, who swore under his breath. He had left that part out on purpose. But of course, Kilgharrah _had_ to bring it up.

"He did not mention this," Arthur said, his voice dead, but his eyes burning with the slightest hint of pain at the betrayal.

"Do not place the blame on him, young Pendragon. I wanted to be free; I forced him to make the promise in exchange for the help I gave. He did not want to—he knew what I might do when free. But in the end, the young warlock always honors his word. Remember that well, Prince Arthur."

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Merlin murmured, averting his eyes. "I'm sorry that conveniently forgot to tell you the truth." Finally, Arthur's gaze on Merlin softened.

Kilgharrah bobbed his head in satisfaction and continued, "In an ironic twist of fate, the young one and I were bonded as soul-kin. Now, we help each other willingly—or sometimes in my case—" his eyes went to Merlin "—_un_willingly."

"I did what I thought was right when it came to Morgana, Kilgharrah," Merlin muttered. Arthur winced beside him.

"I know, young warlock. I cannot blame you for that either. Though I fear your heart of gold (2) may be your undoing."

There was a silence, and finally Arthur broke it, "It was wrong of my father to do what he did to you, Kilgharrah. You did not deserve to be locked away, and I regret that it was he that made you turn against us when you and your—er—warlock have done so much for us all."

Kilgharrah lowered his head to look directly into Arthur's eyes. Merlin was impressed that he did not flinch or blink under the power of his dark golden-eyed scrutiny. "You mean that, young Pendragon," Kilgharrah finally said, raising his spike head once again. "I'm glad that you have seen the light despite the shadow that you have lived with your entire life. You will indeed be a great King."

"Thank…you," Arthur breathed.

Kilgharrah raised his head and sniffed the air. "It will awaken soon, young warlock. I must not be here when it does. It may not come to you."

"Of course," Merlin said worriedly. His fear made his voice shaky.

Arthur gave him a strange look, and Kilgharrah spoke only to him, in the ancient language of the dragons, "Have no fear, Emrys. The Light will consume this Darkness. It is only the end of the beginning."

With a wink, the dragon pushed off the ground, snapped open his powerful wings, and soared away.

"Great!" Merlin called after him sarcastically. "Riddles always make me feel better!"

The dragon's head turned back to him, and Merlin heard him chuckle in his mind. Arthur grasped his head in shock and nearly fell over, so Merlin assumed he heard it too.

"What—was that?" Arthur asked, his voice a pitch higher.

"Him," Merlin explained.

Arthur shook his head violently, and Merlin laughed. "You may need to get used to it, Prince. You never know when and where I need to contact you."

Arthur scowled. "I prefer any form of communication _but _that. What did he tell you?"

Merlin shivered and sat down on the log. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hand, and he reluctantly repeated the words to Arthur.

"You are afraid." Arthur said, sitting next to him.

"You'd be a fool if you weren't," Merlin teased weakly.

Arthur's eyes searched his face. "It is more than that."

"It—its Dark magic is horrifying," Merlin found himself saying. "Its power is the exact opposite to the Old Religion, and it…drowns me when I reach out to touch it with my magic. It more painful than you can even imagine. I feel as though it can overwhelm me."

"What will you do? How will your magic be able to help?"

"I will do what I must, and I will do what I always do: improvise. We must survive this."

Arthur nodded sympathetically. "I know."

Together, they watched the sun shimmer on the western horizon. It sank lower.

~...~

In its dark wolf den, not far away, the Gvarath shifted. It hissed with excitement as the light outside became dimmer. It was nearly time to play.

* * *

><p>AN: (1) Spell used in 1x10<p>

(2) Another unintentional reference to my fic Heart of Gold, the third "book" of this series.

Hope you've enjoyed! The battle will be up ASAP. :D


	14. A Soul, A Mentality, A Name

Disclaimer: IDOM

Author's Note: Here we are, everyone. I hope it meets everyone's approval. *bows slightly and takes a step back* Have at it.

* * *

><p><strong>A Soul, A Mentality, A Name<strong>

The sun seemed to hate Merlin. He watched it nervously, wishing that time would just slow down. Ironically, his desperate hopes just made the time slip by even faster.

_This was a bad idea_, Merlin said bitterly to himself. His nerves and adrenaline only just managed to keep him awake, but it wasn't enough. He dozed off multiple times, only to be jolted awake by Arthur's vicious shaking. He hadn't slept soundly since the first encounter with the Gvarath two nights ago...in fact, he hadn't had so much as a wink of sleep since then. Arthur was hardly doing any better; he was blinking sleepily and yawning. They kept each other awake, sometimes resorting to less than gentle measures to do so, and they bickered to release their anxiety.

When it was full dark, the two could hardly think of sleep. Arthur had Excalibur out, and Merlin ran his hands up and down the staff. They fidgeted and spun at every movement and noise. All they had to do now was wait for it to come. They were ready for it.

~…~

When the very last ray of light disappeared, it rose from the hole and stretched. Balancing easily on the balls of its bare feet, it opened its eyes wide and took a deep breath of the night air.

A strangled hiss escaped its throat. It was a bit disappointed that they were _waiting_ for it. That was no fun; it had wanted to ambush them when they least expected it.

Its tail swung from side to side, and it grinned as optimistically as a thing of such a dark nature could. What did that really matter? The brat and his Prince were going to be its. Its plans ran through its twisted mind, and it shuddered all over with desire. It licked its lips and traced one of its venom-filled veins with a claw. Grey-black blood welled from the cut, and it licked at itself lovingly.

That pure gold…that gorgeous blue…_its_. Their screams, their begging, their pleas. This was the last round of the game, and it was going to win.

"Focusss, my pet," it said aloud. "We wouldn't want to russsh our victory, would we?"

It crossed its long claws in front of it and thrust its arms down in a powerful motion and lunged forward at the same time. It accelerated after the quick take off, and it began to run like the wind, following the scent of the colors.

It let out a shrieking whoop. It was going to enjoy this.

~…~

The only warning that Merlin had was the sudden stillness.

"ARTHUR!" he cried. He launched himself at the Prince and knocked him off his feet just before the Gvarath jumped, on all fours, from the trees, its long claws spread for the Prince. The claws only just missed the top of the Prince's head.

As Arthur rolled back onto his feet, Merlin did not hesitate. He shot a bolt of blue lightning from his staff at the creature. It gurgled a laugh, and it easily twirled aside to avoid the blue light.

It crouched low to the ground, like a wolf ready to pounce. It hissed and growled menacingly, but then suddenly it stopped making its guttural noises and cocked its head.

"What isss thissss magic, runt?" it laughed. "If I didn't know your color, I'd never know it wasss you."

Merlin didn't answer and looked at Arthur, who was frowning at the creature.

"Oh…I sssee. The Pendragon doessn't know, doesss he?" it pouted like a two year old and then whispered horribly, "Won't it _hurt_, runt, when we take your gold from you…and you realizzze that he will never know who you really are? Pity."

Merlin bit his lip, but then shot back, "Both he and I will live to see that day, Gvarath."

It screeched. "By the time I'm done, brat, he will wisssh that you never entered hisss life."

The words hit him like a battering ram. He shouldn't have involved Arthur. _No_, he hardened himself. _There was no other way. He has to be here_.

"We stand by each others' sides 'til the end," Arthur shouted. "That is what friends are for."

Merlin thought that if he died at that one moment, he would have died a happy man. His heart glowed with brotherly affection for the man beside him. _Friends_.

Merlin put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "It wouldn't understand that, Arthur."

The Gvarath looked suitably enraged. Merlin could see its black veins pulsing with the frigid heat of its anger. "I had a lovely gloat prepared, runt. But _you_ are getting on my nervesss." Its clawed hand fluttered and its tail twitched. Its eyes burned into Merlin, and Merlin felt his untamable fear rising up in him.

"Yeah, that's a talent of his," Arthur teased. Merlin let out a genuine laugh of amusement.

The Gvarath shook its head, and Merlin was surprised and the perplexity in its voice, "I do not underssstand. How can you be sssso…_amussssed_….?"

"There is no one I'd rather stand with, Gvarath," Merlin said. "That is just the way we are."

It did not hear his words. "…And purely delicccioussss," it purred. "_MINE_." Saliva and venom dripped from its mouth, and it began to sway slightly, its lustful, greedy eyes looking for a good place to begin.

Arthur gagged. "That's not flattering in the slightest. I don't think anyone's said that to me," he muttered to Merlin.

Merlin let out a shaky laugh, not taking his eyes off the creature. "Come now. Gwen must have said that at one point or another."

"_Mer_lin!" Arthur said angrily and embarrassedly. Merlin didn't have time to acknowledge the fact that Arthur accidentally called him 'Merlin' because the battle had begun.

The thing attacked Arthur.

Arthur flung his sword out, and it parried those long, unbreakable nails. Excalibur sang as it moved through the air and shrieked hideously at the contact with the Gvarath. Merlin conjured a ball of flame and sent it into the creature's back. It leapt out of the locked parry, and it hissed at Merlin in annoyance. It began to send its attack towards him, but Arthur intervened once again, his blade very nearly hacking at the thing's throat before it turned back to him to avoid the blow, distracted once again from Merlin.

"Call your dragon!" Arthur shouted, fighting off a frenzy of cuts. "GO!"

The thing heard the word 'dragon' and let out a scream of fury. "Your friend will never make it. You'll be gone," it promised, throwing itself forward in a fury.

"DRAKON!" Merlin cried, throwing his voice as far as he could. He felt Kilgharrah's mind brush against his, and he knew that the dragon was speeding towards them now.

Merlin ran back to Arthur's side. He and Arthur took it in turns—Arthur mostly defending Merlin from the thing's brutal, flailing claws, and Merlin sending spell after spell. They stood shoulder to shoulder, sweat running down their faces, and in Merlin's case, into his beard. If he wasn't so terrified, he would have cursed.

The thing spun and moved with such speed and agility, Merlin and Arthur could not always stop its furious claws. They were too slow. Merlin had shielded both him and Arthur on numerous occasions, but sometimes, with a spurt of Dark magic, it would shred through them and land its mark.

None of their injuries were serious; they were both too smart for that. But they were already tiring, their lack of sleep and exertion from the battle creeping up into their weary bones.

They panted in unison, and sometimes they attacked the thing together. They did not speak; they just _moved_.

It was obviously playing with them—the warlock could see that in its horrible, fanged smile and revolting eyes. Both Merlin and Arthur saw the plan—it wanted to tire them, wound them, and make them lose faith in prevailing. It wanted to break down their spirits, and that was when it was going to take their colors. It wanted them to collapse to the ground and beg and see their tears. It wanted to see them in pain.

Strength from Arthur's willpower flowed into him. The Prince's face was hard with concentration, and his sword flickered with the power of his determination. Merlin felt the fear lift; Arthur was there. There was no one he trusted with his life more—there really was no reason to be afraid.

Merlin allowed his magic to fill him, and before he even though about it, his hand brushed against Arthur's on the hilt of Excalibur. Arthur wasn't inhibited by the touch as he brought the sword down, but he gasped suddenly as he felt the sword reacting to the magic Merlin had given it. As a wave of golden color rippled through the blade, Arthur penetrated the natural wards protecting the Gvarath. The sword cut a long, shallow cut across its chest. The wound bubbled and spilled grey-black blood.

For a second, everyone paused in surprise. The Gvarath looked down at its chest and touched the blood. Then it let out an ear-piercing scream of pain and hatred, and it lifted its narrowed, burning eyes.

Merlin had just enough time to think, _Damn. We made it angry,_ before it lashed out at him, its movements so quick it was a blur. It felt its bony hand land a solid smack under his jaw.

Merlin's head snapped back at the force, and he flew a few meters before crashing and tumbling into the hard ground with a jerky, breathy groan and cry. The wind was harshly knocked out of him, and as he struggled to regain his breath, his head spun and his vision spotted.

"NO!" Merlin heard Arthur shout, his voice tearing. Merlin shut his eyes tight and tried to force himself up. He managed to get into a sitting position, but his head pounded. He crumpled to the ground breathlessly as he tried to get to his feet. Through his blurry eyes, he saw Arthur and the Gvarath dance. Arthur's face was so furious that even the Gvarath's anger did not match his.

_He needed to help…Arthur…_ He shook his head and threw himself to his feet, swaying a bit, but managing to stay up. When he took a step forward, he fell to his knees. He growled in frustration, fighting away the dizziness.

That's when the Gvarath struck Arthur. It knocked the sword from his hands and made a long cut down his bicep, tearing through the muscle. Arthur cradled his sword arm, and before he could retaliate or make a move for the sword lying in the grass, the creature kicked his legs out from under him. Arthur fell back with a cry, and his head struck a stone. _Blood_. Lots of red blood. With hot, watery eyes, Merlin saw Arthur's eyes lose focus and seek out Merlin's.

Their eyes locked. He saw Arthur's pained blue eyes fill with regret. They were not good enough. He accepted that there was nothing more they could do, but there was still a bright fire burning there. The Gvararth had not completely won. The fire was proof.

Arthur's eyes smiled suddenly, saying, _I am proud to have fought at your side,_ and then they slid back in their sockets and jerked back. He was struggling to remain conscious. The Gvarath kicked him hard in the gut and screamed, "I will take you now, Pendragon! Your magical brat hasss failed you."

Merlin sent a desperate spell at it, but the Gvarath waved his hand. The spell rebounded, and Merlin had to somersault out of the way.

Its demonic eyes burned. "Watch while I take away your ssspirit, runt! You will have no fight left when hisss color isss gone! You will sssuffer!"

It laughed manically and grabbed Arthur by his shirt, pulling him up and lifting his feet above the ground as though he weighed nothing. Its tongue was beginning to slither over its lips, and it dabbed outward, going to lick at Arthur's head wound. The tendrils of its Dark magic began to unravel and reach…

Something in Merlin snapped. A hot, fiery anger rushed through him, and he roared, throwing out his hand. A wave of unadulterated, _pure _magic exploded towards the Gvarath and Arthur. Merlin felt it shield Arthur's _aura _just as its Darkness touched him.

The Dark magic tendrils stabbed into Merlin's consciousness as he protected the Prince. In that moment, he saw the colors as the Gvarath saw them: Aurthur's _aura p_ulsed around the Prince. It was blue—a beautiful royal, deep blue—the color of a clear, deep lake, tinged with purple. It was a courageous blue, a loyal blue, an intelligent and pure-hearted blue. It was a blue that would never let you down. Suddenly, there was a flicker. Thin veins of gold began to spread through the entirety of the deep blue, and the separate strands connected into a web. _His gold_. He saw the shimmering, magical color surrounding his hand. It shocked him to see his own—everything that he was, written in that color. Then he saw Arthur's blue lacing and racing through his own _aura _in the same way his gold had in Arthur's. The words of the prophecy rang in his mind: "_Golden blue, Blued gold…_"

The Gvarath's Darkness stabbed at him again, pressing the knife of its magic in deep. Merlin let out a scream of pain—it was hot and frigid, as painful as an arrow wound and as painful as a fireball in the chest from Nimueh. It was like being struck by lighting and being repeatedly flung against a stone wall. It was like accidentally spilling Gaius's corrosive chemicals on his skin, and it was like drinking poison. It was like being tortured and drowned, burnt at the stake and strangled. His limbs trembled.

He struggled to hold the shield as the Gvarath struck it again and again, searching in vain for Arthur's _aura_. He felt the strength of its anger and confusion. The thought of Arthur's blank eyes was the only thing allowing him to be strong enough to hold it steady. He would not fail him—not after everything that they had been through. He was _never_ going to fail him; today was not his day to die.

Finally the Gvarath's eyes sought out Merlin, and they widened as it realized what he was doing. It dropped Arthur's limp body with a grating, hate-filled screech. Arthur's eyes were closed, and he stirred pitifully on the ground—unconscious.

Merlin released the magic with a deep gasp of relief and horror. His insides felt like they were melting. He huddled in on himself, hugging his burning chest. He swallowed convulsively, trying to see past his unbidden tears.

The Gvarath snarled and spat, "_You! _You and your precciousss Light! I wasss going to sssave you for lassst, but you are too pesssky to live, runt! You have annoyed me beyond repair. I will have you _now_!"

It lunged at him and tackled him onto his back. He tried to physically kick off the creature pinning him to the ground, but the creature was strong and easily held him still with its knees. It laughed, venom dripping, and said, "I really don't like thisss beard. I think I want you clean-ssshaven when I take you." Chuckling horribly, it began to carve at Merlin's high, soaring cheek bones, completely missing the beard for the purpose of torturing him further.

Merlin fought and struggled, but he did not give it the satisfaction of a scream.

After three shallow, though stingingly agonizing cuts, the Gvarath let out a victorious cry and said, "Good-bye, runt! You are mine!"

It reached both its Dark magic and its tongue to the wounds on his face. Merlin gagged at the slight of the long, slimy grey tongue and used his remaining strength to avert the creature's head. But that meant that Merlin, still dazed with pain, did not have time to prepare a shield for himself to protect his _aura_.

Its magic touched his, and the pain suddenly intensified. If it had been agony shielding Arthur, it was _nothing_ compared to this. It was ripping away his _aura_. He felt his very self slipping.

Merlin couldn't stop a scream from escaping him, and the Gvarath giggled, whispering in his ear, "Do you like that? Mmmm, I'm taking my time, you sssee. You may not like it, but I like that a lot." It licked Merlin's cheek, leaving a blazing trail of freezing pain.

That giggle… that _voice_…_that tongue_. Merlin felt no more fear. He felt intense hatred. This wasn't what magic was about. Merlin was not going to let it abuse magic any longer. He was not going to fail; he was not going to let it take him… when there was so much he needed to do….so much he needed to tell. Gwaine, Percival, Lancelot, Leon…they were counting on him and Arthur to return their _auras_. Gwen, Elyan, and Gaius…they were counting on them to come home safely. Arthur.

He remembered telling Arthur: _I'm happy to be your servant. 'Til the day I die_. At that moment, he _was _happy. Memories of them all flashed through his head, and a few tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

His heart filled with love for them, and his magic built up inside him. He had never released so much of his magic at once, and he was a little frightened. Now he knew the full extent of his capabilities.

He fought. He pulled back at his _aura_ and fought the Dark magic with a metaphorical tooth and nail. His magic rebelled against the Dark, lunging, darting, biting, snapping and rearing. The Dark and Light, in an even-matched, never-ending battle, fought each other like two wolves over a mate. The walls of blued gold and blackened red rammed into each other continuously. The brightness of his Light made the Darkness cower away, but the emptiness of the Darkness consumed his Light.

Merlin felt something change. The Darkness was swallowing up his Light, and he knew that he was fading…failing… unconsciousness was slowly overcoming him…

Three things happened simultaneously.

Arthur, who had heard Merlin's scream and forced himself to his feet, came running resolvedly towards the struggling pair, Excalibur raised above his head and a yell building up in his throat.

Kilgharrah's wings could be heard overhead. He roared and released a jet of fire. Excalibur absorbed the magic of his flames as they struck it, and they danced along its edge.

Merlin saw Arthur coming, and a jolt of faith and determination hit him. The Light within him burned hotter, and with his remaining strength, he yelled, "_Bregdan anweald gafeluec!_ (1)"

The blue flames of Merlin's enchantment and the orange of dragon's breath of life combined as one and skipped along the blade as Arthur switched his grip on the sword and plunged it straight through the Gvarath's heart in one fluid movement.

Merlin's Light exploded forward at the lack of resistance from the Gvarath, and he was released from it. A visible wave of pure light burst from his body, and the whole clearing suddenly was alight with it as it spun outward in a ring, spread, and finally dissolved into the night.

The Gvarath screamed—a skull-splitting scream of pain and terror, and Arthur removed the sword from its body. It howled as its cursed life spilled and as it fell to its knees. It shrieked as its sickly pale skin bubbled when the wave of Merlin's light hit it. Clawing at its throat, it screamed again, blood gurgling deep within it, and finally, it fell to the ground, its scarlet and black eyes dimming forever.

There was an eerie silence that followed. The only sound was the breeze that had picked up once again and their panting.

Merlin saw balls of color pop up and rise from its open throat. Merlin had only a brief moment to admire them before they sped away. He recognized his friends' colors as they headed towards the city, and some others he did not recognize went in the opposite direction.

Kilgharrah landed and nosed at the body. He snorted like a horse and backed way. "It is dead," he announced. "Well done, young warlock and young Pendragon."

They stared at it for some time—allowing their victory, their relief, their joy to settle in. It felt like a dream.

"We—we did it!" Arthur finally breathed in shock. His voice suddenly grew louder with delight, and he clapped Merlin on the shoulder. "It's dead!"

The headache was slowly leaving him, and he no longer felt any pain after the magic had been released. His strength was returning to him. "_You _did it, Arthur," Merlin insisted. "You killed the creature. Thank you…" he said, his voice breaking, "Another moment and I would have been gone. Your strength pulled me through. Thank you both." He suddenly barked a laugh. "You, Kilgharrah, have impeccable timing."

Arthur frowned. "Don't place the success totally on me. I hardly did this alone. It was you that fended it off until I came around to stab it. You were the one that contributed that magic. _We_ did it together, Merlin!"

"We did it," Merlin affirmed breathlessly—it finally seemed real. He suddenly shook his head. "That's the second time you've called me 'Merlin', Arthur," he pointed out.

"Really?" Arthur shrugged. "Sorry, Dragoon. I didn't know what I was—"

Merlin leapt up suddenly in fright and cut Arthur off. "You were wounded! Dreadfully! How _dare_ you think about risking your life like that!" he scolded, grabbing the Prince's arm. "You're far too important."

"Don't worry about me!" Arthur yelled back, pulling his arm away in protest. "What about you? I felt you shield my _aura_! And then you were very nearly taken yourself! _You _shouldn't risk yourself…"

The dragon sighed in exasperation, and the two lowered their eyes and shut up.

Merlin snatched back the Prince's arm and moved his eyes up to his bicep. He paused in surprise when he found no sign of it. "But—but—" Merlin protested, staring at the Prince's arm. His shirt was still covered with blood, but there was no cut to be found. There was only a slight white line. Even his head…

"The light that you created, young one," Kilgharrah said. "It released the _auras_ from within the Gvarath, and it healed you and the young Pendragon. That was very powerful, very advanced magic. I did not even imagine I would ever see that magic put to use. That was magic in its truest form, and it has not been used that way in years. Only you, Emrys, could command such power."

Merlin shook his head modestly and tenderly touched his cheek, which now only bore small, white scars. He rocked back on his heels, stunned at what he had done. Arthur's arms were folded smugly. Pride for _him_ radiated from the Prince.

"I—I see Arthur's _aura_, Kilgharrah. I just realized I still see it. I see mine… I can actually _read _them. I can't…it's disorienting," he finally said, blinking rapidly and putting a hand to his forehead.

The dragon jerked its head in surprise. "I did not expect that…"

"What?" Merlin demanded.

"Patience. My theory is that when you fought it—magic against magic—because you were being pulled away and you pulled back, you latched on to a part of its power. Your magic sought out the good in its power and took it with you when you prevailed."

"I don't understand," Merlin muttered. "How do I—er—turn it off? This would not be good in a crowd of people."

The dragon chuckled and shook its head. "I fear that is something you must learn for yourself, young one. I know nothing of this power. Look inside yourself. Just as you used that light, I'm sure you will find it in yourself to control it."

Merlin closed his eyes. He saw the colors even behind his eyelids, and before he could snap his fingers, he found it. It was as simple as controlling his magic—the gift was a _part_ of his magic now. As he released the magic, he realized the potential in having such a gift. It would be invaluable.

He was right; the colors were gone. He experimented, and he realized he could easily call on the gift and subdue it at different levels, at different potencies. _Interesting_…

He realized that Arthur and Kilgharrah were staring at him, and he finally said, "Oh, yes, you were right. I got it. I was just…messing around with it a bit."

Arthur rolled his eyes, and the dragon chuckled again. "I knew you would find it, young one. The Prince doubts your abilities." He frowned. "Though after tonight, I cannot imagine why."

Arthur ignored the dragon's teasing. "Can I—can you…show me?" Arthur suddenly asked, his eyes burning with curiosity.

Merlin took Arthur's hand instinctively and opened his '_aura-_eyes', allowing his newfound gift to leak into the Prince.

Arthur gasped when he saw. His wide eyes looked all around himself and Merlin, and he finally whispered, "The prophecy."

Merlin smiled and nodded, drawing his hand away.

Kilgharrah began to softly sing in the language of the dragons. Arthur listened to it in awe.

When he was done, the dragon finally said, "It is a song of friendship, young ones. Know this well. It is of _your_ friendship. Remember that always. The eternal bond you have created throughout your adventures will be sung about for generations to come, and your story has only just begun to be written." He bowed his head. "I'm glad I made it in time, young warlock. Destiny can continue with her plans." He winked, and he spread his wings once again.

"Thank you," Merlin whispered.

"I will never forget the help you've given," Arthur added. "You are a worthy ally of Camelot."

"Well said, Prince," Kilgharrah commented, taking off. "Good-bye, young ones. I'm sure that we will meet again soon." With that, he turned and disappeared into the low-hanging clouds.

"You were incredible," Arthur offered once a long moment of silence passed. "Your magic…is inspiring. You helped pull me through tonight. I would have never managed it without you."

"Nor I without you," Merlin said with a smile. "We are two sides of the same coin—now more than ever. Our _auras _finally accepted that tonight."

Arthur stiffened beside him, and a look of recognition flitted across his face. Merlin wondered at it; he knew he had never spoken those words to another soul.

Shrugging, Merlin reached into his pocket and pulled out the potion. "It is hard to believe that this hasn't broken yet," he muttered, turning it over in his hands. He shook it, and Arthur barely gave it a second glance.

"I don't think I properly thanked you, Dragoon," Arthur said after some time.

"And you still haven't," Merlin pointed out with a smile.

"I was getting there, idiot," Arthur teased.

"You should just get to the point," Merlin sighed. "And you shouldn't delude yourself; you'd never make a good poet, prat."

Arthur was about to laugh and raised his fist to punch him amicably, but then he suddenly stopped and his arm dropped. "What did you just call me?" his voice incredibly soft.

_What? _Merlin had forgotten what he had said already. He didn't even think he said…

"No one… ever calls me prat…save…._Merlin_," Arthur gasped, his eyes searching Merlin's face.

Merlin suddenly swore loudly. It had slipped! He had been extraordinarily cautious not to use it, and even though there were plenty of wonderful openings, he was proud to say he hadn't all day long. His heart thudded in his chest. That shouldn't be enough to make the Prince recognize him…was it?

"Those eyes…" Arthur suddenly said. His eyes widened in awe, and he stepped back. His mouth gaped open, his eyes suddenly glazed over with memories… "_Merlin?_" he finally asked.

And that was it. He fit the pieces together, and the look in Arthur's eyes—the sudden recognition, the hint of amusement—everything was going to be all right. He did not have to be afraid anymore. Just like that, Merlin felt the weight of his secrets leave him, and he was free. It was the right moment.

Without thinking twice, without even considering deceit, without even thinking of denying it, he uncorked the little blue potion and recited quietly, "A soul, a mentality, a name…" Their souls—one combined, Arthur's mentality on magic changed for the better, Merlin's name—his very identity—revealed…

He guzzled down the potion and smacked his lips. His stomach squirmed, and suddenly, he felt himself beginning to change. The aches and creaks suddenly disappeared; his skin became smooth and clear, and his posture straighter. His hair retreated back into his scalp and slowly began to blacken as its length shrank.

When he felt it was done, he smiled lopsidedly—his familiar eye-crinkles creasing with the smile—and he coughed to get rid of the old man voice.

He felt suddenly awkward under Arthur's eyes, but he knew if he didn't say something first to shake Arthur out of the shock…their friendship wouldn't be the same. He had to speak first.

He touched his face, amazed at how strange it felt without the beard—how much _better_ it felt without the beard—and ran his tongue over his teeth. "Remind me," Merlin croaked. He coughed again and pounded a fist to his chest. He began again in his normal voice, "If I ever live to be that old, I'm counting on you to dissuade me from growing a beard."

Arthur's eyes were impossible for him to read. A sudden fear pricked at his heart as he waited for a reaction. When he did react, it wasn't as he expected.

Arthur punched him—hard—on the arm. "Ow! What the hell was that for?" Merlin asked indignantly. "_Prat_."

Then even more unexpectedly, Arthur gave him an awkward man-hug.

When he drew quickly away, Merlin smiled at everything that was implied by the hug, "You mean that?"

Arthur snorted. "Everything that I said to you earlier, everything I said about magic: I mean it. How could I not? That is what friends are for, after all."

This time Merlin tackled him with a hug and tears of utter joy sprang from his eyes. "Thank you, Arthur."

"I'm the one who should be thanking you."

"You don't have to," Merlin said, wiping away at his tears and pulling away.

Arthur smiled weakly and said, "Don't go making a habit of this…_hugging_."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sire," Merlin agreed.

"Don't call me that," Arthur snapped. "It doesn't fit you. We are equals."

"I once told you," Merlin began seriously, "that I would always be proud to be your servant."

"Merlin, you are probably the most powerful and _modest_ man I know—you can't imagine how foreign those words taste on my tongue—" he admitted. Merlin scowled. "But you are far more than just a mere servant…always have been—I have just taken my time recognizing it." He sighed. "I have a lot of questions."

"Well, that's only to be expected. I did just dump a big surprise on you."

"It wasn't that big of a surprise. I think—I think I've always known. I just wasn't meant to know until now."

Merlin gratefully pulled off his robes to reveal his usual attire underneath. He flung the robe over his arm and said, "A lot of what you wish to know is already part of your story."

Arthur looked amazed. "But I don't know that story from your point of view."

Merlin blinked. "Arthur," he said seriously, "we may just make a poet of you yet."

Arthur laughed and thumped Merlin on the back. "We need to go back. They probably are all waiting to hear what happened."

"They will all hear it—every bit of it—from the day I met you to now. My story is a long one, and I really _don't_ want to repeat myself."

Arthur laughed. "Taking the lazy way out, Merlin?"

"Not lazy… _practical_," Merlin retorted. "There's a difference."

"Gaius must know," Arthur mused suddenly. "And I suspect…Gwen?"

"She only found out last night when I accidentally woke her. She guessed and helped me with you. Then there's Lancelot…who knew since he—er—_I_ defeated the griffin…and Percival...who found out because I left out my book."

"You've been hiding a magic book this whole time? Careless fool!" Arthur chuckled. "How is it that I never caught you?" Arthur asked in amazement. "It seems so…obvious to me now. And it fits you! You're beginning to make sense to me, Merlin, though I suspect I will never fully understand."

Merlin shrugged. "You'd get bored."

"Fair enough," Arthur conceded. "C'mon then. How 'bout some light, Merlin? I wouldn't want you tripping over too many roots on the way back."

Merlin ignored the klutz comment. He beamed dazzlingly and conjured his ball of light—the memories centering around that magical ball of light came flooding back to him. When he first conjured it, Arthur had—for the first time—willingly risked his own life to save his. The last time he conjured it, Arthur had begun to accept magic as a force for good. Contentedly, he directed it to lead them. Merlin and Arthur began to follow its bobbing form. "I never thought this day would come."

Arthur observed him and smiled. "You can walk free now."

"No," Merlin disagreed, "Now I can _fly_ free."

There was a silence, and Arthur began to laugh hysterically. "Only _you_ would have the imagination to create a character like that! I have real reason to think you _are_ mad!"

"I hope you realize that I meant every word I said when I was 'Dragoon'," Merlin said seriously. "I am him; he is me. He is hardly a figment of my imagination."

"I know. You'd probably be executed by now if I didn't believe that," Arthur said with a straight face. He couldn't keep it steady long and burst out laughing once again.

Merlin permitted to a smile, and the banter began.

They bantered all the way to the castle. Everything was normal—well—as normal as it came between the warlock and the Prince. Everything was as it should be.

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><p>AN: (1) Spell from 1x05<p>

I have been waiting for that hug since that awkward moment in Beauty and the Beast Part II. :D Series 4 better deliver it.

Thank you to all reviewers. It means so much to me that everyone approves of how I write the characters. I certainly hope that this battle was easy to understand and well paced, and I REALLY hope that this Reveal-given all the other Reveal fics-is different, refreshing, and meets your approval. ;) Only the epilogue left, all. :) Should be up tomorrow.


	15. Epilogue: Welcome Back Celebration

Disclaimer: IDOM

Author's Note: :) Enjoy the epilogue, fellow Merlin fans. I hope it ties everything together nicely.

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><p><strong>Epilogue: Welcome Back Celebration<strong>

"I'm pretty sure I don't want to know how many times you've done this," Arthur muttered, "but I'm curious anyway."

It was amazing—Arthur was no longer tired or sore. Ever since Merlin's 'light' magic had touched him, he felt completely rejuvenated, energized, and wide awake.

Merlin gave him a sly smile and a shrug, "No, I suppose you don't. But I'm going to tell you anyway: your guards are horrible. I hardly need any magic to sneak past them."

They were sneaking into the city—mostly because Arthur confided to Merlin that he didn't have the patience to deal with the guards. In truth, it was more because he was eager to be back in Gaius's chambers, surrounded by his friends, his love, and his warlock, who had promised to tell his tale, and it was simply quicker to sneak in.

A shock hit Arthur. "When we went to save Guinevere—the first time you found out about my feelings for her—you knocked the guards out."

"_I told you to distract them! Not knock them out!" Arthur had complained._

_Merlin had had his arms folded and a smug, contemplative smile on his face, and he turned to look at the Prince in exasperation. "There's no pleasing you sometimes."_

Merlin gave him the same look. "I _was_ distracting them…but then…well, there was an accident with the barrels."

"A _magical_ accident, perhaps?"

Merlin pursed his lips and made a show of studying his fingernails. "Maybe," he said shortly.

Arthur just started snickering, and he shook his head in amazement. Merlin's stormy blue eyes widened again—he seemed as amazed at Arthur as the Prince was at him.

Merlin had told him on the walk back that he had expected him to be angry for lying for so long. He thought that Arthur would feel betrayed. In response, Arthur had told him to shut up or he _would _be angry.

He understood Merlin's reasons. With a cautious Gaius as his mentor and the threat of an axe hanging over his head, Arthur could _definitely_understand. He winced at some of the things he had said to his servant about magic, and he now realized that that had only shoved the man further away as he took those words to the heart. No, he didn't blame Merlin in the slightest. It was only now that he had finally been released from his father's twisted teachings. If Merlin had not become Dragoon—Arthur shuddered to imagine how he would have reacted to this revelation. He knew that their friendship would never have been the same.

His memories went back to the very first day he met Merlin, and he couldn't help but laugh. Look at how far they had come! Arthur began reviewing his memories, and he slowly began to see the signs of his friend's magic. It was everywhere.

In truth, he was fascinated by the boy and his magic. That was it—simply fascinated. He could not put his fascination into words. A fuzzy feeling hit him as he contemplated Merlin—servant, idiot, fool, klutz...modestly powerful sorcerer and powerfully modest friend (1).

He knew that there was no other like him.

A sudden wolf-whistle shattered the night. Arthur jumped in surprise, and Merlin did so beside him.

"Merlin, mate!" Gwaine suddenly called. He and Percival started sauntering over to them. Percival had a rather large barrel over his shoulder, and Gwaine was carrying a rucksack. "Hell, am I jealous of those scars! The ladies are going to be all over you."

Merlin looked completely shocked and touched his left cheekbone. When Merlin removed his finger, Arthur noticed the one long, slim white line cutting raggedly across for the first time. Two smaller ones merged into it, making one side of the scar a little thicker than the other. He burned with anger. For a moment he wished the Gvarath was still alive so that he could go and have the pleasure of killing it again for the pain it put Merlin through.

"Gwaine! Percival!" Merlin cried. "You're alright!"

"Thanks to you, mates," Gwaine grinned easily. "Oi!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Gaius told us that some old bloke was supposed to be with you, Arthur….And _you_!" Gwaine pointed to Merlin. "You are supposed to be too ill to leave your bed."

Merlin and Arthur exchanged a worried glance; they had a silent fight as to who should explain. Merlin lost.

He sighed and worriedly began to speak, but then both Gwaine and Percival burst out laughing. "You should've seen the looks on your faces!" Gwaine sniggered.

"You know?" Merlin asked in shock.

Gwaine snorted. "For the record, I've always _suspected. _We believed Gaius' story at first, but then Gwen slipped."

Merlin looked slightly hurt and betrayed for a moment, but then suddenly he softened and laughed. "Ah, Gwen."

Percival said, "She was beside herself in worry for the two of you—even after she saw us come 'round and knew that you killed it. When she slipped up, she was horrified, but then she decided that it was more important that you get the credit that you deserve. She knew that you would understand. Gaius approved."

Merlin's eyes became watery. "Where the soldiers there?"

"Naw, they left immediately. They needed to get back to their families."

"How did the others react?"

Percival snorted. "Well, Gwaine laughed with utter delight and said…"

"I'm even more eager to see you drunk now, mate," Gwaine interrupted.

"Not a good idea," Merlin muttered.

"I may have to team up with Gwaine on you, Merlin," Arthur said, grinning at both Gwaine and Merlin's utter shock. "That'll be a hell of a party."

"Can I get that in writing?" Gwaine asked to himself. "Before I wake up from this dream?"

"Elyan didn't give a damn one way or the other," Percival continued. "But then Gaius told him that it was your magic that healed him and nicked him from Death's door. I believe you have another person who would willingly lay down his life for you, Merlin."

Merlin smiled weakly. "And Leon?"

"He didn't believe it at first. He actually went on about the irony of how often you've been called out for sorcery in the past and managed to escape each time with a cleared name. Then he laughed as well. There was a lot of that—laughing. He knows that you are trustworthy, and he trusts you."

Merlin let out a sigh of relief. "Next time we're out, you'll be amazed at how much more I'll be able to help now that you all know. This is going to be brilliant." His eyes drifted far away.

"So…do you remember anything?" Arthur asked the two Knights.

"Nope," Percival said. "Last I remember I was in the forest. When I woke in the infirmary… you can say I was a bit terrified."

"Perce was the first to recover though," Gwaine added. "Lance, Leon, and I—well—we nearly gave Gaius and Gwen a heart attack. We thought we were still battling the creature."

"They leapt up with horrifying yells and swung around imaginary swords," Percival laughed. "It was actually hilarious after a little while."

"That's when Gwen burst into hysterical tears, and Gaius," Gwaine's eyes flickered to Merlin. "He was a little more than relieved."

"Awesome," Merlin muttered sarcastically. "He worries too much."

"That's because you're too careless with your life, Merlin!" Arthur laughed, grabbing his servant and rubbed his knuckles into his skull. Merlin struggled to escape and tried to flatten his unmanageable, tousled raven hair with a look of annoyance.

"I meant what I said, Arthur. My magic has no bounds. What would you like to try first? You've already been part donkey…"

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't _dare,_" he challenged.

He caught Merlin's bluff, and the younger man smiled. "You're right. I wouldn't. I'll wait for a time you _really _deserve it."

"I'll have you executed before you can say a word," Arthur teased. Merlin rolled his eyes and waved that aside.

"Oh, no!" Merlin cried in mock horror. "Have you learned nothing tonight?" Merlin grinned mischievously and turned away. "Now, what are you two doing here?" Merlin asked the two Knights.

"We do live here," Percival murmured teasingly. He nudged Gwaine with his elbow. "This was all Sir Gwaine's idea," he announced.

Gwaine shot Percival and evil look. "Erm—about that," Gwaine started. "We're all expecting a story…and a bit of a welcome back celebration—for us and for you."

Arthur suddenly recognized the barrel on Percival's shoulders. "Tell me that you didn't nick that whole barrel of ale from the inn, Gwaine!" he exclaimed with a mixture of crossness and amusement.

"And tankards!" Merlin laughed, pointing at the rucksack.

"I haven't had so much of a drop of good ale in my blood for god knows how long!" Gwaine complained. "I was having major withdrawal."

Arthur floundered for words. "Percival! How in the world did _you_ get dragged into this? I thought you had more honesty in you than that!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gwaine asked indignantly. "Are you suggesting that I'm not honest? I'm hurt, Arthur." Merlin and Gwaine erupted into snickers, and Percival and Arthur both looked at them with disapproval.

Percival finally shrugged. "We left perhaps double what we owed in the sill. Everyone pitched in."

Arthur had to accept that.

"C'mon then!" Gwaine laughed. "Everyone's waiting!"

"You just want to get at that ale," Percival said under his breath.

~…~

Arthur was surprised at the wave of applause that greeted him and Merlin when they walked into the infirmary. He and Merlin were assailed by hugs, laughs, tears, yells, and smiles all around. Everyone gave Merlin a glance of wonder mixed with pride, and Arthur found himself enjoying Merlin's over-awed expression and small smiles.

Merlin had been hiding for so long…He deserved this moment.

Arthur saw Merlin use his newfound magic—his _aura _reading magic. While Merlin's irises were completely inflamed with gold when he used his other magic, the only sign that he was reading _auras_ was a shimmer of gold behind his familiar stormy blue. The magic flared across his irises in lightning-bolt-like veins through the blue. It was hardly noticeable, but Arthur saw it.

Merlin looked around at the others, his face serious and calm as he learned to recognize each color of the Knights. Arthur realized how smart that was—it could be a priceless tool in times to come. His eyes snapped back, and he smiled reassuringly at Arthur.

Finally, after jokes about Merlin's magic and thank-yous and demands for the story had been given and after Gwaine had helpfully served everyone a tankard, Merlin motioned for Arthur to talk.

And so he did. He talked about Dragoon—he used the name for the purpose of the story—he talked about how he first met Dragoon (Gwen added here and there), how Dragoon wandered into his chambers, fled, returned with Gwen, and how the world of magic slowly shifted in his eyes. He spoke of Dragoon's magic and how fascinating he found it.

He talked of the bandits and Excalibur, every word that Dragoon had said about magic, Kilgharrah and the Gvarath—especially the Gvarath—the battle, and then…_Merlin_.

Merlin had nursed his drink tenderly as Arthur talked, often throwing in a witty comment here and there, but for the most part, he stared at Arthur with appreciation. The others laughed and gasped at all the right times, and often enough, one of them turned to slug Merlin in the shoulder.

When he was finished, they were all awed and silent. Then the whispers of gratefulness and relief started.

Gwen, with tears in her eyes, suddenly took Merlin's hand and pulled him to his feet. "It's your turn now, Merlin."

Arthur saw Merlin shuffle awkwardly under the gazes of his friends.

"Go on, Merlin," Gaius said reassuringly.

"You deserve to be recognized for your gifts now, Merlin," Arthur added softly.

With his words, Arthur saw Merlin's confidence boost, and his famous, impish smile lit his features. "I want to thank you all for being there with me every step of the way—though you didn't know it at the time."

Merlin paused awkwardly, and continued, "When I first came here, I never expected to be surrounded by friends like you who would actually accept me for what I am…nor did I expect to become a _servant_ to his Royal Pratness."

And so it began. There were periods of complete, awed silence—at those times, Merlin spoke about the Questing Beast, Freya, his father, Balinor…the list continued. But then there were far more laughs—mostly at Arthur and Merlin's expense but then at the others' too as they entered his story. They all ended up adding their comments and their thoughts at each part of the tale, whenever they fully realized how much this young man had done for them. Gwen talked of her multiple imprisonments and of her part in investigating the Witchfinder and the goblin…amongst other things; Lancelot talked of the griffin and of the Cup of Life during the battle with Morgana and Morgause; Gwaine talked of the bar fight (of course) and of the melee and of the Quest for the Fisher King's trident. Elyan spoke of Arthur and Merlin's bravery in rescuing him from Cenred. Percival and Leon even contributed.

Merlin poured out his heart and soul. He cried multiple times—from both grief and joy—and his laughter lightened the hearts of all sitting there. He was a brilliant story-teller, and his words were—no pun intended—like magic.

Merlin spoke for hours. When he finally finished, a long, awed silence followed. Even Gaius, who knew most of the story already, was sitting stunned.

Merlin blushed scarlet, and he said, "That's it."

"_That's it?_" Gwaine breathed sarcastically. The others began to mumble in wonder. It was obvious that each of them was struggling with strong emotion.

Merlin's eyes swept around the faces of his friends, but they only settled on Arthur's, waiting for him to speak.

The others quit their mumbling to themselves, and waited, patiently and expectantly, as the two men read each other's eyes.

_Powerfully modest, modestly powerful _(2), Arthur thought. Merlin was remarkable. An utterly remarkable person, with a heart as pure as gold. Arthur felt in that moment like he too could read _auras_ because Merlin's very soul was open and clear to him now. He saw everything.

So, there was only one thing left for him to say in response to Merlin's epic and hilarious tale.

"Idiot."

Merlin smiled blindingly. "Prat."

At that moment, he didn't care that everyone was watching, he didn't care that he had already warned Merlin not to make of habit of it, but he did it anyway. All of his thanks, all of his emotion: his acceptance, his awe, his appreciation, and his friendship were placed into that one embrace. He owed Merlin for more than he could ever repay—and he knew that the hug was all that Merlin wanted from him. His modesty was inspiring and humbling at the same time.

Arthur ignored the stunned silence of his Knights, the goofy smile of Gwaine, the beaming of Gaius, and the tears of Guinevere as they watched them. When Arthur drew away, Arthur said it aloud, "Thank you for everything, Merlin."

"I—I'm soaring, Arthur," Merlin whispered in a daze. "I'm finally free."

Arthur squeezed his scrawny shoulder. "I think I can speak for the others—" they all made movements or sounds of agreement "—without you, Camelot wouldn't be, _we_ wouldn't be, _I _wouldn't be. I promise you: one day your magic and your deeds will be recognized and sung about by all. For generations to come."

"I don't need that. I have you all. That's all that matters to me."

Arthur bit back a lump rising in his throat, and Merlin asked with his bizarre, oxymoronic, goofy-wise eyes to him alone, "Are you ready for the next chapter, Arthur?"

"Only if you're at my side."

"I'm _always _at your side, and I wouldn't dream of leaving it."

"Likewise."

They were interrupted by Gwaine, who had toppled sidewise off his chair when he tried to stand. He said crankily, "Stop hogging him, Princess. We all want a sorcerer hug."

"You drunken fool!" Arthur said, laughing. He finally got around to kissing Gwen and then helped himself to another drink, ready to allow himself to relax and have fun for the first time in a long while.

Merlin was then assailed by first Gaius, then Gwen, then the rest of the Knights. They hugged him, complimented his bravery, his talent, and his incredible story; they thanked him and praised him. Arthur saw Gaius' eyes shining with a pride that surpassed even Arthur's own.

The requests for specific parts of Merlin's tale to be retold, the celebrations, the friendly banter and joking, the drinking, and the drunken shenanigans had lasted through out the night. Finally, at the first light of dawn, Gaius kicked them all out, insisting that everyone needed to sleep off their excitement, their drunkenness, and their foolishness.

Arthur went to bed satisfied. That was a night he wasn't going to forget in a hurry. Not only did Merlin reveal his secrets and his incredible, life-changing story, but he and the Knights had teamed up against Merlin and had gotten him drunk.

Arthur chuckled to himself. No, a drunken warlock was quite impossible to forget.

The last thing that Arthur thought of before he fell asleep was that he was lucky to have been given the chance have such a friend, his guardian angel. For the first time in a long time, his heart held hope for the future.

He dreamed in flashbacks—all the adventures he and Merlin had been on together replayed in his mind. Even in his dreams he felt the wonder and the strength of his bond to the raven-haired boy. Snatches of Merlin's wisdom and Merlin's jokes echoed through the dreams. Imaginings of future adventures called to him.

Just before he sank into the deep, peaceful, dreamless stage of sleep, he heard the words from the song of his and Merlin's friendship in his ear: "_…a soul, a mentality, a name…"_

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><p>(1) A reference to the second "book" of Prophesized.<p>

(2) Oh, look, another reference! ^^

_**Whoop! I managed to finish before school started. *bows dramatically* I can't believe it.**_

_**I want to thank you all for sticking with this story 'til the end. I am humbled by your brilliant support and your wonderful reviews. It has been such fun to write, and I am so glad that you all enjoyed reading it.**_

_**At the moment, I have no plans for another story. But inspiration is a funny thing. Who knows what will happen? I will, however, be around as a reader (to tell you the truth, this site is making my unbearable impatience for s4 to start a smidge less unbearable), and as both a reader and a writer, I have some advice, if you'll take it:**_

_**Keep an open mind, keep your imagination and intuition sharp, and ALWAYS have a pen on hand. You never know when brilliance will strike you.**_

_**I know it's still a little ways away, but have fun watching Series 4, everyone! :D**_

_**With love, OZ**_


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